The World Is Ugly
by StrawberryBubble
Summary: The Killjoys are the only hope in restoring freedom to a post-apocalyptic country brainwashed by a government they've sworn to take down. BL/I, however, are willing to go as far as they need to stay in control, no matter how disastrous the consequences. Frerard/Rikey WARNINGS: language, torture, abuse/rape/, and self-harm/suicide attempt. Now complete. Finally.
1. Look Alive, Sunshine

**A/N: AU, Danger Days...The year is still 2019, but the ages in this fanfic are: ****Party Poison is 24, Jet Star is 24, Kobra Kid is 21, and Fun Ghoul is ****20****. **

**Also, this story is totally and completely set in the the _fictional_ Killjoy-verse, or the storyline/concept of the album **Danger Days**. All of the unoriginal characters (for example, Party Poison) are _characters,_ created by the band members themselves, specifically for this fictional world. That means, I am _not _writing about real people, and this _is _fan - _fiction. _Even if the actual names of the characters are ever used, that does _not_ mean they are in any way the actual band members, as they did mention that the Killjoy names for these false, 2019 characters were only their aliases. True, I could have picked different names to avoid any mistake between the real people and these characters, but then I would be claiming the characters made by My Chemical Romance to be my own, which I'm not, and they are not.**

**That being said, in this _fictional_ story, none of them are married, and they of course were never the band of My Chemical Romance. Their songs are mentioned as chapter titles and whatnot, but they were never them before any of this.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything or anyone in this entire story ****_except_**** for the plot (other than what was in the music videos and concept of the album, of course) and the OC's I made up. All titles of chapters are from My Chemical Romance songs unless said otherwise.**

**On with the story, hope you guys like it!**

Chapter One

Look Alive, Sunshine

Exhausted.

_That _was the only word that could accurately describe the group of four Killjoys that sat at a table in an abandoned diner, staring at the empty cans of food in front of them; if 'food' was even the right word for the sloppy mush. But it was energy and strength nonetheless—something they very much needed to assure they did not fall under the capture of BLI, the insane government party that ran the state—or even others; it obviously couldn't be just California that felt the most hurt, but the last time they cared hadn't been recent. They would defeat it anyway, no matter how far their reign had gone, no matter how many people they had brainwashed into being on their side. They weren't alone in their rebelling; believe it or not, there _were _still sane people around. And despite the fact the BLI tried to get rid of every Killjoy they saw, they were still holding out against them.

"You all right, Poison?"

Brushing his brightly dyed red hair out of his eyes and raising his head, Party Poison looked at who had spoken, Fun Ghoul, and nodded. "Never better," he replied, though he had not stopping holding his side since they had arrived back from their most recent escape from the Draculoids, or the masked men that worked for BLI. Specifically concerning was a man named Korse; the BLI exterminator with a bad temper who had added Killjoys to the list of garbage they needed to get rid of in the zones surrounding Battery City. Something was clearly going on, because lately, the attacks had been more recent, like they somehow had a time limit to destroy all of them.

They had nearly succeeded, too.

After only a month of their frequent killings, there were less than half as many Killjoys as there had been before, which, to begin with, hadn't been many. So many young lives lost, all because they refused to be brainwashed by their medication…

_What the fuck's happened to the world?_

"What?"

Poison looked up without knowing who had said it, realizing he must have mumbled the words aloud. "Just…" He trailed off, then angrily slammed a fist into the table in front of them, gritting his teeth. "There's too many dying 'cause of those bastards."

"Like we don't know that," Jet Star sighed, leaning back slightly.

"No, I mean, we need to find another way to fight them."

"Like how?" Ghoul asked, gazing at him, and Poison felt him affectionately nudge him with his foot.

Having momentarily forgotten how limited their resources were, Party shook his head. "I don't know." he admitted, then paused thoughtfully. "We could always go looking in the zones closer to Battery City for allies."

"Yeah," Kobra Kid snorted, and Poison glanced at him. "Because getting closer to what's trying to kill us is such a good idea. We'd still be outnumbered, anyway."

Poison sighed, but his kid brother was right; he was _usually _right.

The boom box type radio settled on the counter hissed with static. After a moment, a voice sounded. "Callin' all Killjoys."

"Jesus, Doc," Kobra muttered; he knew what he was going to say. They just couldn't get a break, could they?

"Sshh," Poison gave him a hard glare as the man, Dr. Death Defying, continued. "There's a large group of Dracs attacking Zone 4. It's not lookin' too good. I know you've all gotta be pretty damn tired after all the fightin' that's been goin' on—"

_Understatement, _Party thought.

"—but no more lives need to be lost. It's your choice, tumbleweeds. Dr. D out."

"Shit." Poison murmured, and then stood and took a few experimental steps forward. It obviously hurt—no one hit with a ray gun got away feeling perfectly fine, if they got away at all. But he could walk, which meant he could force himself to run if needed—which meant he could help fight. He turned to the others; "You three good to go?"

"Of course," Jet instantly stood, followed by the two, who took just a bit longer.

"All right, then." Party sighed, grabbing the bandana around his neck and pulling it up to cover his nose. "Let's go."

It took the four Killjoys somewhere around ten minutes to drive their beat-up Trans-Am to Zone 4, five seconds to comprehend how bad it had gotten (and how outnumbered they were, as usual), and exactly one half second to see that most of the damage had been done. What must have been ten fallen allies lay on the dusty desert ground. Dead or injured, it was impossible to tell. And the ten or so that were still standing were struggling to fend off the thirty Draculoids attacking them.

Poison cursed viciously several times, stopping the car and getting his ray gun ready before he jumped out. Immediately, he shot one of the masked enemies, whipping around as he dodged a blast and returning it, assuring he did not miss.

"Where the _fuck _are all these Dracs coming from?" Kobra cursed, suddenly next to Poison as he tried to block both blows and gun blasts to himself and to other Killjoys around them. "There must be something they want—"

"Other than all of us, dead?" Poison interrupted, his teeth clenched, and Kobra noticed he was holding his side again.

"No—yeah—I don't know!" Kobra sputtered, and then a loud shout rose above the screams and yells. "_Poison!_"

The red-haired Killjoy flinched at the absolute terror in the voice, and then ran off towards where it had come from. Pushing through both Dracs and allies, avoiding blasts and delivering them, he finally reached Fun Ghoul, who was warding off four Dracs at once without help, and without a weapon. Actually, it seemed a Killjoy had _tried_ to help him out—and was now lying on the ground, unmoving.

"Bastards!" Party shouted at the masked men, shooting at them and backing up, directly in front of Ghoul as staggered to retrieve the gun knocked out of his hand. Poison glanced back at him, then focused on the Dracs again, killing another and jerking back as the last two standing shot towards him at the same time. He bumped into Ghoul, and the two of them fell to the ground, missing the blasts in the process. Poison blinked hard and then picked up Ghoul's gun, aiming both and simultaneously pulling the triggers, killing one Drac instantly and causing the other one to drop to its knees, now unarmed.

Poison looked around to see most of the Draculoids running—the rest visibly limping—out of the battle, leaving hardly any Killjoys still standing. And those who were able to were getting the hell out of there, without a word, without a thanks. _Thank you _almost didn't exist out here; they all knew everyone was thankful of whoever helped them, the time they had to say it usually being used to instead run. He turned his attention to the Drac, placed the gun to its head, and fired. Then, he turned his attention to Ghoul. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just great." he gasped, managing to straighten up with Poison's help. He was cradling his shooting arm, where his jacket had been ripped open and was now bloodied.

"Damn," he murmured, taking off his bandana and wrapping it tightly around the wound, an arm around Ghoul's waist for both support and attempted comfort as they got to their feet. He looked up at Kobra and Jet as they came towards him, breathing hard. "Hey, what happened?"

"Nothing." Ghoul shook his head. "I'm okay."

Regarding his boyfriend doubtfully, Party sighed, glancing at the others. "You two, go look for any survivors."

They nodded and set off to look over the Killjoys on the ground, not exactly hopeful. It had been the same outcome the last few fights—those who did not walk away usually were beyond help, no matter how much of it they tried to give them.

Poison watched them go for a second and then tightened his grip on Ghoul, walking back to their car and opening the passenger side door for him. Ghoul smiled at him slightly, and then winced as he sat. "Hold that," Poison said as he released the other's arm, and Ghoul halfheartedly rolled his eyes, "I know."

"There's no one."

Poison sighed at his brother's voice and then nodded solemnly, having expected such news. He shut the door, going over to the driver's side as the rest got in the back and starting the engine. He looked around the area a last time, shaking his head in disgust. All those Killjoys dead…and, as always, it was BLI's fault.

They drove in absolute silence, the only sound being the wind rushing past them, whistling a sort of tune. _Or an elegy, _Poison thought, the scene of motionless bodies flashing through his mind again, though he was sure it was a mutual feeling throughout the survivors.

"Party," Jet began as they pulled up next to the diner, and they knew what he was going to say before he finished. "You know whose truck that is?"

He _didn't_; in fact, none of them recognized the dirty, rusty, beat up vehicle parked beside their hideout.

His sense of uncertainty growing, Poison opened the door and stepped out.

"No Drac would be driving something like that," Ghoul said, getting out along with the others, and Poison knew he was most likely right, yet did not lower his gun as he continued to make his way towards the opened door of the diner. They could not take a chance—whoever…or _what_ever was inside, they could very well still be their enemy; Drac or not.

He glanced back at the three, who were a little further behind, and entered the building with a soft, "Just, wait here a minute…"

His weapon at the ready, Poison very quickly inspected the side rooms, and then jumped slightly as a low, very soft groan came from somewhere close.

"Hey! Who's there?" Poison demanded, and when he got no answer, he curiously stepped towards the counter, placing his arms on it and pulling himself up a bit to lean over it—only to see the small form of a child, wrapped in several blankets. Confused, Poison set his gun down, wondering how she'd gotten here and realizing too late the very obvious answer that there was someone else there.

"Get the fuck away from her!"

Poison hadn't even the chance to turn around before the butt of a ray gun slammed into his skull, and he instantly slumped forward on the counter, out cold.

The boy behind him lowered his weapon, then growled in frustration as he heard someone else from outside call, "Hey, you okay in there?"

He hesitated a moment, then roughly grabbed the guy off the table by his shirt, an arm around his waist to support his surprisingly light but limp body. The boy took several steps towards the door, placing his gun to the guy's head. "If any of you come in," he shouted finally as they drew closer. "I'll kill him!"

"Shit," one of them said, and the footsteps abruptly stopped.

"You've got, like, _two _seconds to tell me what the hell you're doing here, or else—"

"We live here!"

The boy nearly dropped who he held. They _lived _here? "You guys are Killjoys?"

"Do we fucking look like anything else?" another snapped, and he finally really looked at the person he'd hit. His hair, about halfway down to his shoulders in length, was bright red, and his clothes weren't white or black...in fact, they were _colorful_. Too colorful for him to be whatever he'd previously believed. Which he wasn't sure had been _anything, _of course; he'd simply acted without thinking. Too many people had already tried to hurt them. "I'm just trying to heal my sister, okay?"

A pause, then: "We know a doctor!"

He closed his eyes in relief. "You do?"

"Yes." the same voice called, then added. "We're not going to hurt you."

"If you're lying to me, you're going to wish it was the other way around!" He allowed the Killjoy to drop, stepping over him to get to the doorway, inspecting the three outside, who were all holding their guns at their sides, and he pointed his own. "Drop them," he ordered, and they reluctantly did so.

He lowered his gun slightly and hesitantly nodded them inside, backing up and keeping his eyes on them.

"Poison!" Ghoul exclaimed, and he had hardly taken three steps towards him before the boy shouted, "Leave him!"

Ghoul stopped and turned, staring at the kid like he was crazy as he directed the gun at him. "What the fuck do you think I'm going to do?"

"Don't care," the boy replied, seeming extremely nervous, and he gestured to behind the counter. "My sister is sick. Help her."

Jet took a step forward and turned around so he could look at the boy better. He couldn't have been older than twenty, and his clothes, dirty and ripped in several places, were extremely vivid. His short hair was a brilliant azure, and he shook his bangs out of matching colored eyes.

"_We're _not doctors." Jet pointed out. "We said we_ knew_ one."

The boy stared at him. "Then get him here! Now!"

"All right, damn…" Jet muttered, carefully stepping over Poison with a silent _sorry_ and going over to the radio on the table. He grabbed the phone attached to the radio on the counter and clicked the button. "Dr. D?" he began. "It's Jet Star."

Nothing but static answered him.

"Dr. D!" he tried again with the same outcome and lowered the phone, glancing wearily at the boy. "Look…"

"What is it, Jet Star?" the Doc's voice interrupted him unknowingly, and the three sighed in relief.

"Doc, we need you at the diner. There's a little girl…I don't know what's wrong with her, but uh…" He looked at the unnamed Killjoy again. "I think you better come."

"All right, I'm on my way." Dr. D replied after a moment, and Jet placed the phone back onto the radio, his eyes on the boy. He seemed relieved, but did not lower his gun. "Get in the booth," he said, gesturing towards the one nearest to him. "Now."

"We did what we said we would!" Kobra scowled as the boy pointed the gun at him. "What, do you still think we're a threat?"

"No. I'm trying to make sure none of you are lying."

"You heard his voice!"

The boy frowned at his lack of control over them, and then suddenly pointed his weapon at Party, resulting in the blonde to go silent.

"Now," the boy repeated, and the three slowly obeyed. He went around the counter, not ceasing his glare on them until he had reached where he had laid his sister down, bending over her and placing a hand on her forehead. She was still burning up, like she had been for the past day or two, and though she didn't seem to be getting worse, she wasn't getting better, either.

He stood, frustrated. "That doctor of yours better hurry the hell up," he said, walking back beside them. He noticed that the one who'd argued with him had not lifted his gaze from the unconscious Killjoy several feet from him since he had sat down. He was tensed, as if about to hit something, though he had no expression on his face. The guy with the shoulder-length black hair was also focused on the floor, but the other was staring at _him,_ as if daring him to do anything.

He scowled and bent down, taking a grip on Poison's jacket and yanking him up to shove him into the empty booth across from them. The three glared at him as he then sat as well, facing the barrel of the gun in Poison's direction, sending a very clear silent message.

"Bastard," Ghoul mumbled, shaking his head in utter aggravation, exchanging a glance with the other two.

"Might as well do something useful," the boy said after a moment. His voice had stopped shaking; as long as he knew they weren't going to do anything, he was okay. "You guys got any food or water? We ran out and need some for when we get back on the road."

No one answered, and he shrugged. "I already know you do. I was lookin' for meds and saw some in the back." He glared at Kobra. "Go get some and put it in a bag."

Kobra did not move for a minute, and the boy reached over, pressing the gun into Poison's side so hard he groaned. "I'm not asking for all of it. And I believe I have something against you, am I wrong?"

The blonde held back a string of curses and stood, reluctantly stepping past them and disappearing into the other room.

"I'm Neon Explosion, or just Neo." the guy introduced himself.

"Because we wanted to know so badly," Jet muttered, and Neo shrugged again. After a few minutes, Kobra came back, holding a pillowcase that contained a few cans and bottles. The Power Pup mush was easier to find and obtain than water was; they had already been low in their supply.

He hesitated, then set it down before Neo, who smiled and nodded, satisfied. "Good."

"Yeah, glad we could help!" Kobra snapped, plopping down on the seat next to Jet again and folding his arms across his chest.

"Ne…" a very soft, very weak voice split the silence, and Neo suddenly scrambled out of the booth like he'd been electrocuted, rushing behind the counter.

"Come on, Doc…" Ghoul breathed, staring anxiously out of the glass.

"Ah, _fuck…_"

All three instantly turned their attention to Poison as he raised his head and placed a hand on the back of it. He blinked at them and then sat up straight, his eyes wide. "Where's that asshole?"

"Right here," Neo interrupted, and Poison flinched, looking up at him in surprise as he approached him. "And it's Neo."

"Listen!" Party scowled, looking him over and then standing up, clenching his fist like he was going to punch him. "Whatever you—"

Neo drove the barrel of his gun into the Killjoy's stomach, and Poison doubled over, gasping, staggering and falling back into the booth.

"Hey!" Kobra shouted, jumping to his feet.

"Watch it," Neo growled, and then tightened his grip on the ray gun, placing it to Poison's temple. The red-haired Killjoy did not move, immobilized by the ache in his head and agony in his side. The blow had hit where the Drac had previously shot him, practically bringing him to tears.

"What the _hell _is going on?"

All but Poison looked up to see Dr. Death Defying in the doorway, his brow furrowed as he took in the scene. An older female Killjoy, known as Cloudy Skye, stayed outside by the van they'd arrived in, unaware of what was going on inside; the truck hardly caught her attention.

"You're the doctor?" Neo asked, and Dr. D nodded, frowning.

"Then come help my sister," he demanded, releasing the Killjoy to stand and lead the hesitant man behind the counter, though it was with a bit of difficulty, considering he was in an electric scooter.

Poison groaned softly and leaned over to put his forehead on the table, and Ghoul moved quickly beside him. "Hey," he murmured worriedly, and then gasped as, when he moved his arm to wrap around his waist, he hissed in pain and shifted away from his touch. Ghoul removed his hand instantly, and looked at the others as they got in the seat across from them.

"Party," Kobra tried, though his brother did not answer other than shaking his head slightly.

Finally tuning in the conversation beside them, Ghoul heard Dr. D say, "…and rest. A _lot _of rest."

"Sure, of course," Neo replied sincerely, and then Dr. D slowly wheeled out. "Thank you," he added, standing and now holding the little girl. She was about ten, her curly hair matted and sticking to her face, and her face was very pale. Pressed to her blankets in Neo's hand was a small packet of several painkillers.

Dr. D did not reply, and Neo stepped past him, grabbing the bag with his free hand, grunting with the effort of carrying both his sister and then stuff, and then stopped at the door. "I'm sorry," he softly murmured, not turning around, and then left. The Doc shook his head and moved his attention to the four at the table. Ghoul looked at him and then stepped out of the booth, pulling the red head towards the edge of the seat.

"Party," Dr. D said, and when he did not respond, his head lowered onto his chest, the Doc looked him over, noticing he was holding his side. He pushed the boy's hand away, opening the Killjoy's jacket and lifting his shirt slightly to reveal a large, bloodied gash along his midsection.

"Holy shit!" Kobra breathed. "That asshole just did that?"

"Did he shoot him?"

The blonde shook his head. "No. _He _didn't. He might've gotten hit before."

"He'll be okay," Dr. D assured him after a moment, and then they looked up as Skye finally came in, her eyes widening as she saw them. "Um," she began, gesturing with a thumb behind her, utterly confused. Dr. D sighed and reached down to the first aid kit he had brought for the girl, opening it. "It's fine," he finally replied, pressing a cloth he'd dabbed with alcohol onto Poison's side.

"Ow! Damn!" Poison suddenly exclaimed, jolting into full awareness and trying to shove the cloth away. Ghoul grabbed his wrists, holding them up and away, and Poison groaned as Dr. D rewet the cloth with the cleaning solution, sympathetic but unable to help it. He'd probably grown a little too used to seeing people in pain, obviously hating it each time but no longer acknowledging it as anything but what he had to do. He'd simply tended to too many Killjoys for it to affect him as much as it used to.

Ghoul hesitated, then leaned down as Party moaned again, pressing his lips to his. Poison immediately relaxed a bit, and he smiled weakly as Ghoul pulled back, the pain momentarily forgotten, wincing after a long moment and then sort of pursing his lips towards him, wanting it to go away again.

Ghoul gladly accepted the request.

At last, Dr. D removed the cloth, and Ghoul pulled back, glancing at his side again. Now cleaned, the gash looked far less awful. The Doc wrapped it gently and then lowered his shirt, and Poison turned to lean back, breathing hard, his eyes closed.

The man glanced at Ghoul, who was noticeably favoring his arm, and frowned. "You get hit too?"

Ghoul gave a small shrug. "Earlier." he said, and Dr. D gestured for him to sit in the other seat, backing up and then turning to face him completely, removing Poison's bandana and rolling up his sleeve. Ghoul hesitatingly looked at it, feeling a bit relieved as he inspected it for longer than the glimpses he'd been taking. It was neither large nor deep—simply a gash from the Drac he'd been fighting, though he still hadn't much of a clue _what _exactly had happened.

Kobra scowled and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall beside him.

"What?" Jet asked, and the blonde cursed. "We're gonna have to find more water."

"You didn't give them _all _of it, did you?" Jet demanded.

"Of course not!" Kobra snapped. "But we were low already."

"W-we need gas, too." Ghoul winced as Dr. D finished cleaning and wrapping his arm, placing the kit on the counter with a long sigh, lifting an arm to wipe his forehead.

"Damn," Jet shook his head. "Every gas station around here is guarded by Dracs now."

"Not…" Party began, blinking to focus and finally raising his head, looking at them. "Not closer to the city." The ones out where they were were only guarded in case any Killjoys attempted to try and raid them. Almost none of them dared to go to the ones near Battery City, and therefore it wasn't needed as much.

"Yeah," Kobra shook his head, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Because _that's _a good idea; go to where the station would be the only place _not _swarming with guys trying to kill us."

"If they don't know we're Killjoys, they won't care."

Kobra crossed his arms, noticing his brother had a slight glimmer in his eyes, his gaze going to Dr. D in a silent communication and then back to the blonde, who sighed.

"Fine. What's your plan?"


	2. Party Poison

Chapter Two

Party Poison

"Damn it, Poison, this is never going to work!"

Party glared at his brother wearily. "I've done it before, and we're still here."

The group of four Killjoys were standing beside their car, not fifty feet from the first gas station they'd come across in Zone 1. It was extremely close to the city, as there was no reason for any of the citizens in Battery to go out of their way to get things, but as Poison had predicted, it wasn't heavily guarded.

They were currently staring at the twenty-four-year-old in front of them, usually dressed in anything but what he wore at the moment. His clothes were stark white, lacking anything but the image of one of the many people going along with BLI's false reality, and his bright hair was tucked fully into a black hat Dr. Death Defying had found years ago. In fact, the entire outfit had been given to them by him—only in his possession for the reminder _not _to dress anything like it.

"Not so close to Battery City! You're gonna get yourself killed." Kobra continued, and Poison smirked. "Always keepin' it positive, hmm?"

"Sorry," Kobra looked away with a sigh. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

"And I do? Look, it's not guarded, at least outside. That's a good sign. If there's anyone inside working for BLI, they won't recognize me in this."

"Yeah, still." Kobra shrugged.

"If you've got a better idea, I'd _love _to hear it."

Kobra glanced over the outfit again and then met his gaze. "Just…be careful," he said.

Poison nodded and turned to the other two, eyeing Jet for a moment, who had his eyes on the ground. "You okay?"

"Just fine," he replied, though was clearly lying. He was the only one of the group that was nearly an expert at siphoning gas, but he always felt guilty he could never do more than that, despite that always being the most important thing.

"All right. Give me two minutes after I get in, then bring the car around. You've got five."

"And if something goes wrong?" Ghoul asked hesitantly.

Poison gave him a small smile. "Then don't wait up for me." he responded, and then turned without hesitation and set off towards the station.

_Like that would ever happen, _Ghoul thought with a sigh, glancing at the others and then moving off towards the Trans-Am.

Party almost stopped as he got to the door, looking at the ray gun dispenser outside the place. He would destroy it if he could—they were the things that supplied weapons for the Dracs, used much too frequently. He swallowed hard and forced himself to continue; if he looked like he wasn't supposed to be there, they'd notice and suspect him. He had to know precisely what he was doing to cause a distraction, and it was slightly unnerving to realize he _didn't_.

"Nice day, hmm?" the woman behind the counter greeted him as he entered, and he showed no emotion. "It is," he replied, keeping his head lowered but glancing around for anyone else in the place. For being so close to Battery City, it was surprisingly empty. Only one other person was in the little store, over towards the back.

_Two people, all right…_

Poison went over to the refrigerator doors and opened the one with large containers of water behind it, rolling his eyes. Oh how he wished it could always be this easy…just walk into a store and _get_ something.

No. No, that was the life they all had left behind. He was _glad _he did; how could he even begin to think like that? That was like wanting to become one of the drugged up people in the city, practically tripping over false happiness, and he obviously wanted nothing of the sort.

He almost smirked at the idea that came to him then, hoping it successfully distracted the workers. He grabbed three containers and managed to get the door shut behind him, took a breath, and then pretended to lose his balance, dropping them almost before he could move. "Ooh!"

The woman and man both looked at the boy on his knees and went over to help him up.

"Sorry," Poison murmured quietly. "Must've slipped on something…"

"Don't worry about anything." the woman said, far too calmly, and he resisted the urge to cringe. They helped him carry the containers to the counter, and Poison stopped briefly, looking at the aisle of food they passed and grabbing the smallest thing he could see—a box of eight granola bars. It wasn't dog food, anyway; he only hoped he had enough to get it.

"This is a lot of water," the man said as he took the box from him without giving him a chance to set it down himself, placing it next to the bottles. He eyed the Killjoy closely, and Party struggled to stay calm. There was something in the man's expression—suspicion?

"We _are _in a desert," Poison chuckled, reaching into his pocket for the money they'd managed to find around. Had it been five minutes yet?

Just to be sure, he pretended to search several more moments, finally pulling out several crumpled bills and coins and setting them next to the cash register.

The woman took them, counted, and then looked at him strangely. "It's fifteen twenty."

Poison coughed in surprise, unable to stop himself from blurting out, "It's _water!_"

The man leaned on the counter, a little too casually. "The price went up a month ago. Don't you watch the news?"

Frustrated, Poison dug for the rest of the money, almost throwing it down on the table.

The woman's smile remained, but she took on a sort of confused look at the actions.

_Shit. _Poison smiled slightly at her, but knew he'd already allowed his aggravation to show. Maybe it hadn't been that noticeable...?

"I'm sorry, you don't have enough." she said, and Poison sighed, glancing longingly at the box of what he very much wanted. "What if I put these back?" he asked, gesturing at it, and the woman tapped at the computer again. "That would do it."

With a sigh, Poison grabbed the granola bars and walked over to where he'd found them, reluctantly leaving the box there. They _had _food; water was more important.

"Here you go," the woman nodded at him, and he gently took the few coins she held out to him, placing them back into his pocket. He picked up the waters, doing his best to act like they were at least heavy enough to have previously caused him to fall, nodding at the two as they watched him go.

"He was a bit odd," the woman said, shaking her head, and then frowned as the man only continued to watch the door the kid had walked out of. "Yeah; a bit odd." He glanced at her and then walked into the back room. He picked up the phone, then hesitated. Was he completely sure? The boy could have simply been uninformed, but then…

After a moment, he punched the numbers anyway, holding the receiver to his ear.

* * *

><p>Poison finally took a deep breath as he reached where the car was waiting on the side of the road, feeling as if he hadn't done so the entire time he had been in the store. "You get it?" he asked Jet, shoving the bottles into the back of the car and getting in the passenger side. Kobra placed his foot on the accelerator, and they sped off.<p>

"Fuck yeah," Jet smirked like the question had been a joke. "What, did you think I didn't?"

"You know what I think? I think they just scammed us." Poison rolled his eyes, shoving his hand in his pocket and taking out the few coins, the only thing left from everything they had found, holding them up in his palm to his younger brother.

Kobra regarded them in disgust. "That's all you got back? For water?"

"Party," Ghoul suddenly murmured before the older could reply, pointing at him. "Your hair…"

Poison frowned and then moved his head to look in the broken rear view mirror, feeling a pang of fear. On the side, some of his hair was sticking out of the hat, which was tilted to the side a bit. "Shit," he muttered, ripping it off completely and throwing it by his feet, shaking his head. It must have slipped when he fell; was that why the man had been regarding him so strangely? And if so, would he have realized he was a Killjoy?

Kobra glanced at him. "That _just _happened, right?"

Poison cleared his throat, hesitated, and then gave him one of his adorably innocent smiles without replying.

Kobra rolled his eyes. "Works on everyone but me, _bro_."

The red-haired Killjoy thought for a moment and then glanced back at Ghoul, who couldn't help but give a small chuckle, shaking his head.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," Poison said after a moment, tugging on the very uncomfortable outfit and facing forward again. "Not like they have BLI on speed dial."

"Mm," Kobra replied, his eyes on the road. "'Least we got what we needed."

"For now," Poison said, fidgeting again. He hated looking like one of the people they tried so hard to rebel against. "But we'll need more eventually. And we are _not _going back there." He scowled, tossing the coins he still held onto the floor. They wouldn't need them, anyway; they couldn't buy a thing in the world with sixty-four cents, and it would take them ages to gather up as much money as they'd just spent.

"We'll think about it then. Right now we—_holy shit!_"

They jerked forward as Kobra slammed on the brakes, then looked up to see what he was gawking at.

Off the side of the road was the little girl from the whole incident at the diner the day before, stumbling along feverishly.

And she was alone.

"The hell?" Jet murmured, and the four got out of the car as the girl drew nearer.

"Hey," Poison called gently, and she raised her head, seeing his clothes before anything else and panicking, beginning to immediately rush off in the opposite direction.

Party looked down at himself. "Shit!" he muttered as he understood; she thought he was going to try and capture her. "Wait!"

The other three Killjoys ran to follow her, though she barely made it twenty feet before she tripped and collapsed, groaning.

"Listen—we're Killjoys!" Ghoul tried as they caught up with her. "We aren't going to hurt you!"

The girl's expression relaxed slightly, and then her eyes shut and she pitched to the side.

Kobra reached out and caught her before she could hit the ground, lifting her up. "Damn," Kobra said. "She's still got a fever." He hadn't even a need to feel her forehead; her entire body felt as if she'd gotten an awful sunburn, and yet she was more pale than she was red.

"Did her brother leave her or something?" Ghoul wondered aloud.

Kobra shook his head and turned to walk back to the car. "He did all that yesterday to just leave her here in the middle of a zone? Doubt it."

The two followed. "So what, you think BLI got 'em?" Jet asked, and Kobra shrugged slightly. "We won't know until we ask her."

Party opened the door of the passenger side as they returned, and Kobra gently set the girl down in it, getting in beside her. "Come on, we might need to call in the Doc again if she gets any worse."

"She couldn't have been out here long—we just came this way earlier." Poison pointed out, getting in the back with Ghoul, and Jet shook his head, starting up the engine. "I hope so. Her being in the sun like this couldn't exactly be good."

Kobra nodded in agreement, glancing down at the girl and then to his brother. "You should probably change before she wakes up."

"Mm, good to know." Poison rolled his eyes, flipping him off in irritation, and then leaned back. Like he hadn't both realized that and been planning on doing so anyway. "Thanks; really."

* * *

><p>It was almost night again before the girl stirred. "Neo…?"<p>

Jet, who had been taking turns with the others watching her, stood up and went over to her. They were in the smallest back room of the diner, the few cushioned chairs they owned placed together in a makeshift bed just her size. He waited a moment, wondering if he'd been hearing things, and then felt hopeful as she mumbled again. He adjusted the damp cloth on her forehead, smiling slightly as she opened her eyes. "Hey, don't worry, you're safe." he said calmingly.

The girl did not reply, although she suddenly appeared close to tears. Jet hoped they were not of fear or pain. "Are you feeling any better?"

The girl nodded, and then finally spoke. "They took him." Her voice was soft but strong.

"Your brother?"

She frowned. "How did you…?"

"He came here yesterday for…help."

"I don't remember," she said after a moment, seeming slightly panicked.

"You've had a pretty high fever," Jet explained, placing the back of his hand to her cheek. She was still warm, but it had definitely gone down. "You're going to be fine," he smiled, and she sighed softly.

"What's your name?"

"Grace…" the girl murmured, and before he could speak again, her eyes closed once more, and he instead exhaled for a long moment and stood, walking out.

"Any improvement?" Kobra asked, having been in the booth closest to the room.

"Yeah, her fever's definitely going away. She even woke up for a minute or two."

"Really?" Ghoul asked, coming over to stand next to him, looking at him curiously. "Did she say anything?"

"Yeah…" Jet took a breath. "BLI took her brother."

None of them replied; Poison didn't even look up from where he was sitting, further away from the rest of them. It wasn't that they didn't feel for the kid, getting her family taken away and all, but they hadn't exactly _liked _the guy.

"At least they didn't take her," Kobra finally murmured. "She wouldn't have lasted long sick."

"Maybe that's why they didn't bother with her." Ghoul shrugged.

"I wonder if her parents were taken, too, or…" Kobra winced and did not finish.

"Or they could be fine," Poison finally raised his head. "At least, as fine as someone who's living in Battery City can be."

Jet nodded. "For her, I hope." He paused. "I think she—Grace, her name is Grace_—_is going to want us to try and find Neo."

"Well, obviously." Kobra muttered. "But I don't know if we can."

"We'd be giving them an actual reason to kill us, and others." Ghoul sighed. "If we broke in BLI's headquarters, I mean. And that's only ifwe survived long to do that."

Jet leaned back against the wall with another nod, glancing in at the girl.

"You didn't tell her we would, did you?" Poison asked, eyeing him, and he looked at the red head. "No."

Poison stood, adjusting his jacket and shaking his head. "Well, if we get a chance to rescue him, we will." It was a bit obvious he was trying his best to care, and would have cared _more _had Neo not attacked him like he did, and they all silently agreed. But he was a Killjoy all the same, and they could only hope his situation wasn't as dangerous as they suspected it probably was.

* * *

><p>"Look, I just told you! I don't know anything!"<p>

Frustrated, the BLI agent smacked the restrained Killjoy before him yet again, turning around and placing his hands behind his back. "You are not telling me something. Stop making this difficult!"

"Damn it!" the Killjoy groaned, and the agent scowled, looking at him again. "You were in Zone 1. There is not _one _place to get food and water there that isn't guarded. I've recieved _one _call, and it was _not _describing you. So how exactly did you come to get the bag you had?"

"I…I raided some diner."

"And there were Killjoys there?" the agent asked, leaning over and slapping the boy again when he did not reply. "Fucking stop! Yes, there were people living there!"

The agent rolled his eyes and straightened up. _Fifteen minutes. _Leave it to these damn Killjoys; they'd rather die than rat each other out. This had been exceptionally quick progress; and he had a feeling it was mostly because he had been given direct permission to interrogate him as such, and the boy knew it. "Now we're getting somewhere. Who were they?"

"I don't know…really, please…"

Another smack. It seemed to be working, anyway.

"I don't!" the Killjoy gasped. "Some guy with red hair—Poison or something. A-and three others! One was Jet Star, I think…"

The agent watched him for a moment, surprised. "_Really?_" he smirked, interested, remembering what the man who had called in to BLI had said; the boy who'd been acting strangely had had red hair.

_Gotcha._ "Good job, Killjoy."

"You…" Neo Explosion trailed off the curse, weakened. He'd never meant for any harm to come to other Killjoys; he'd been desperate before, for his sister…_Oh no, _he thought—what of her? She'd run off into the desert, all while being ill…if her fever and the heat from the sun didn't kill her, would something else?

"You heard the orders." the agent continued, smiling sardonically at the Killjoy. "His father wishes to speak with him after this."

The Dracs started towards Neo.

"Fuck you!" the boy finally managed, and the agent halted. "You'll never win!"

Exterminator Korse turned back to him, smirking. "I'm afraid," he started, "it's a little late for that." He chuckled. "We're already on our way. You think your little group of rebels will stop us? Hmm? You're quite mistaken if you do."

"Not a mistake—" Neo grunted as the Dracs yanked him out of the chair, his arms still tied behind him.

Korse chuckled and continued right on out of the room, ignoring another curse shouted after him. His smirk impossibly increased, and it wasn't due to the fact he knew exactly what the boy's father was going to do once he revealed where his sister was.

It was because he now knew where the same four Killjoys that had caused him the most trouble were. The group was one of the only ones he had tried numerous times to capture, and failed at every attempt.

Not only that, but it seemed that they were very much looked up to between all the rebels. He'd heard the names Jet Star, Fun Ghoul, Kobra Kid, and Party Poison more times than he cared to remember from interrogating other Killjoys.

_Party Poison._

That name even more than the others. The red head had been evading him for years, every time slipping away before he could get him, all while raising hell for BLI.

And he was about to be his. Korse would be sure of it. He'd enjoy making him suffer, making him give out every last location of every last Killjoy in the Zones, and making him watch as he killed them off.

_He'll never talk. _

Korse wasn't sure where the unpleasant thought had come from, but knew it was partially truthful. Being their leader and all, it would be nearly impossible to get anything from him; same with the rest of them.

_We'll see…_

Korse smirked again as he walked.

Yes, he liked _that _thought much better…

* * *

><p>"Hello?"<p>

Party jerked immediately out of his slumber, tilting to the side and half falling out of his chair at the small voice. He stood and went over to the bed they'd created for the girl, squinting in the darkness until his eyes adjusted. "I'm here, don't worry," he said, realizing she was sitting up. "Are you okay?"

"Who are you?" she whispered.

"Party Poison," he replied quietly, not wanting to startle her. He bent down on one knee and placed a hand on her forehead, sighing in relief. It was absolutely fine—no abnormal warmth at all. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes," she answered, and Poison smiled. "I'm glad, Grace."

"…How…?"

"Jet Star told us. He was the one who was in here with you before."

"Oh." A pause. "What time is it?"

Poison stood and walked over to the window, looking out. A pinkish light was slowly illuminating the sky, and he faced her again. "Morning. You slept all day yesterday."

She shifted almost uncomfortably, looking as if she wanted to say something but remaining quiet.

"Do you need something?"

"Yes," she said, failing to continue.

Poison frowned. "What? Are you hungry?"

She nodded, and he began to leave to both wake the others if they weren't already up and get her something, but she suddenly called, "Wait!"

"I'm still here."

"I have to go to the bathroom."

"Ah." Poison felt ridiculously stupid. "All right, I'll show you where it is."

Grace nodded and slowly stood, with Poison standing close by in case she needed help, and then he led her out of the room.

Twenty minutes later, the group of now five sat at a booth next to the window, Grace at the end of one side by Poison, across from the other two, and Ghoul, sitting in an additional chair they'd pulled up.

Grace set down her glass of water and leaned back contently. She hadn't fulfilled both her thirst and her hunger at the same time in…she couldn't even remember how long. It felt _amazing._

"Better?" Jet asked, and she nodded. "Thank you." She smiled, and the rest of them found themselves doing the same.

She ran a hand along her fluffy hair, which almost matched Jet's in appearance. "You're really nice," she said, "helping me and all."

"Of course," Party said. "We'd never leave a fellow Killjoy out without help."

She took on a sudden sad expression. "I…"

"What is it?" Ghoul frowned.

"I-I can't be—I mean, I'm not a Killjoy."

"_What?_" Kobra widened his eyes. "Who told you that?"

"My brother." She looked away. "I'm too young; I'm ten."

"You're never too old or young to be a Killjoy," Jet said. "If you're against BLI, you _are _a Killjoy."

"He always told me I wasn't old enough to even understand what we were rebelling against."

"Do you?" Poison asked, and she turned her attention to him. "Yeah."

"Then you're a Killjoy. And no one can tell you differently."

"Neo did. He said a lot of things," she frowned. "I know he loves me, but…he's just a real stressed out person."

Poison unconsciously lifted a hand and ran it along the back of his head. _Never would've guessed._

"It's not his fault, though," she went on with a sigh. "My dad didn't exactly protest BLI taking over, and my mom went along with him. They started acting all weird, mostly him, trying to change how we thought and stuff…and trying to force the two of us to take these icky medicines."

"Did you take them?" Ghoul questioned curiously, and she shrugged. "Only once. But I didn't after that. They made me feel like I didn't care about anything."

"That's what most of them do," Kobra shook his head. "They mess with your head."

"But everyone else was taking them; they seemed happy about it, too."

"It's not real," Kobra murmured. "They only think they are."

"Yeah. Anyways, Neo woke me up one night and said we had to leave. We didn't even say goodbye to them." She sighed again and looked away. "We took this old truck from the junk car lot down the block from our house and have been out here ever since. It's been, like, a couple of months, maybe." She cringed. "My dad, he started working for BLI a little while before we left. That's when it got worse, and…he's tried finding us a hundred times, but we always get away. Until the Dracs got my brother, before you found me." She shivered and shook her head. "I was so scared, I mean, I _wanted _to help…I've always wanted to help…but I couldn't, so I ran."

"Well, you're safe here," Poison said, and she smiled, though it was sad. "We can try to find him, right?"

Poison hesitated, not wanting to give her false hopes. "We can always try." He glanced at his younger brother and then back at Grace, a smile tugging at his lips. "But…you're going to need a Killjoy name to be one…"

She brightened up immediately. "Really?"

"Do you know anything you'd like?"

She giggled. "I've always thought Missile Kid was pretty cool…"

Poison gave into the smile; she was too cute. "Well, Missile Kid," he began, placing his hand out for her to shake.

"Welcome to the Fabulous Killjoys."


	3. Let This World Explode

Chapter Three

Let This World Explode

Poison stared out the window, aggravated. He _really _wished they had a working clock around. It wasn't something that usually bothered him, and even now it wasn't the only thing on his mind. But after Missile had asked before, he had been irritated at the fact he _didn't _know the time.

He, along with the rest of them, had long since lost track of what day it was, let alone what month. It was burning hot—_literally_—all year round; there wasn't really a need to know. But they knew the year…it was 2019. They were certain of that. They always managed to be aware of that bit of information. He hoped this would be the year they would finally take down BLI—they all did. But they'd been trying all these years, of course, and well…here they were, sitting in an old diner and practically melting from the heat.

_But we won't give up; not ever. Not until we win. _

"Party?"

He blinked and turned as Missile Kid came out of the back room, beaming. She almost looked no different, besides the fact she now had a cap on, one they had accidentally taken while trying to find clothes for themselves a month or two ago, and it fit her perfectly. "Can I keep this?" she asked hopefully.

Poison smiled. "Sure, Kid."

"Thanks!" Her grin increased, and Poison chuckled, shaking his head.

Her gaze went to the old boom box type stereo on the counter, and she stared at it for a moment. "Is that a _radio?_"

"A really old one, yeah," Poison replied, standing up and walking over to it, gesturing at the little phone attached to it. "We use it to talk to the Doc—ah, Dr. Death Defying."

She lifted herself up to sit on one of the taller chairs, looking like she was trying to figure out who that was without asking.

"He's the guy who runs the radio station we all listen to."

"Oh! Oh yeah, I heard him on that before," she said. "But our radio broke a long time ago."

Party sighed sympathetically. "Sorry. This one's broke a couple times, too. Ghoul's managed to fix it, though." He caught sight of his boyfriend coming out of the other room and, almost unknowingly, added a playful, "He's good with his hands."

Ghoul glanced at him mischievously, leaned over as he passed him, and blew a raspberry against his neck. Poison jumped and then hissed out a giggle, watching him go out of the corners of his eyes and then blushing and straightening up when he remembered Missile was still there, hoping it all had blown over her head.

It seemed to have, and she smiled merely because he was, and then looked back at the radio for a moment more. "It's plain," she said finally, and Poison frowned, not entirely sure what she meant. "What?"

Without answering, she gently turned it towards her, taking several colored pencils out of her pocket.

"Where'd you find those?"

"In the back," she replied without looking up, seeming very intent on drawing whatever she was on the front of it. "You've got some cool stuff there!"

Poison smiled, and then his gaze went to his brother and Jet as they came over to them.

"Oh, hey! Nice hat," Jet said, and Missile giggled softly. "Thank you." She at last set the pencils down on the table and turned the radio to face them. It now had the word 'BOOM' on it with colorful squiggles around it.

Jet nodded approvingly. "'Least it's not plain anymore," he said, and Missile shrugged. "I hate when things don't have color."

"Us too, Kid." Poison said, paused, and then continued. "I got something else you might like; hold on." He walked past them and into the back room, rummaging through some of the pretty much useless stuff before he found what he was looking for.

It was a decorative belt, covered in bright pins. They'd found it a while ago, and it was small enough that it would fit her. It was definitely colorful enough that she would appreciate it, and they had no reason to keep it otherwise. He turned and took a step towards the door, only to have it slammed in his face.

Startled, he jerked back, staring at the man that stepped out of the shadows, smirking.

"Hello, _Party Poison_."

Poison scowled at the BLI agent. "Oh. _You _again."

Korse's grin only increased, and he took another step towards him, ready for the next move he was all too aware the Killjoy was going to make.

As he'd suspected, Poison grabbed for his ray gun, but the man had reached out and grabbed both of his wrists before he could, his strength surprisingly containing the red head's struggles.

"Fight as much as you want, boy, but this place is surrounded. You're not getting away from me this time."

"_Kobra!_" Party screamed, trying to warn them, and Korse roughly grabbed the sides of his head, forcing him to look into his eyes, shaking him.

"Fool—stop trying to avoid me—"

Poison gasped for breath, his vision distorted; it felt as if the agent was attempting to squeeze the life out of him, and he couldn't do one Goddamn thing about it except scrabble at the hands holding him like an idiot.

"Poison!" one of them shouted from outside, and a ray blast shot a hole through the door, missing the two of them by hardly an inch. Korse did not release the Killjoy, although his eyes darted to the door as another blast hit it, and Jet kicked it open, followed in by the others, shooting at him.

Korse growled in anger and let Poison go as his arm was grazed by a blast, both of them staggering back from each other.

Poison recovered first and retrieved his gun from the holster on the side of his jeans. "Where's Missile?" he shouted at the three, and not a second after the words had left his lips, a loud cry came from outside the room.

"Damn—" Poison muttered, and then exclaimed as Korse struck him from behind, trying to stop him from fighting, but the Killjoy did no such thing. He whipped around, unfazed, and hit the agent with the side of his ray gun, stunning him for a moment and then following the others, more concerned about the girl than him.

"Missile!" Poison called as they rushed outside and then spotted her on the ground next to their car, scooting away from the two Dracs in front of her.

"Get the fuck away from her!" Ghoul shouted, aiming his ray gun at them and firing, killing them instantly.

Missile stared up at them shakily as they approached, and Kobra held out a hand to help her to her feet. "We have to go, now!" he said, gesturing quickly to the car, and the five got in, with Poison in the driver's seat. He slammed the car into reverse, nearly hitting one of the Dracs, and then placed his foot down hard on the accelerator.

"You okay?" Poison finally asked, glancing back at the girl.

"Y-yeah, but…" She suddenly smiled despite how scared she still looked. "I _really _want a gun."

Giving the best smile he could at the moment, the red head moved his gaze to the broken rear view mirror, the slight grin fading. "Hey, Jet?" he said, almost calmly. "Might be a good time for you to show her how to use that launcher…"

"Launcher?" Missile's smile increased.

"Uh, yeah." Jet glanced behind them to the three cars following them, along with two motorcycles. _Definitely a good time, _Jet silently agreed, lifting himself up and reaching back into the trunk, grabbing the missile launcher they'd carefully tucked away there. They'd found it, loaded with only one shot, in a warehouse; no food like they'd been hoping, but look how helpful it was being now!

Jet set it on top of the Trans-Am, aimed at the cars behind them, and then placed Missile's finger on the trigger. "Go ahead, I'll hold it."

Missile hesitated. As of now, it would take out only one of the vehicles, but… "Does this thing explode?"

"The missile? Yeah, but—"

Missile Kid did not allow him to finish, having heard all she needed. She jerked the launcher down a bit and then shot it, completely missing a single car—and instead throwing _all_ of them off course and off the road as they drove straight into the forming fireball they hadn't been able to avoid.

"Holy shit!" Jet gawked, first at the now empty road behind them, and then at Missile, who was laughing as if she'd never done anything more entertaining.

"That was _awesome,_" Ghoul grinned as Jet lowered the weapon back into the trunk and they settled down again, and the others nodded in agreement, practically speechless in respect and awe.

"How'd you know it was going to do that?" Jet questioned at last, and she shrugged. "I, um…I saw it a long time ago…on a movie."

Poison gave a nervous and relieved laugh. "Nice job. Really."

"Thanks," she replied, looking like she was very much enjoying the compliments. Poison then frowned, shaking his head after a moment and giving a sigh. "Damn. We don't have any way to contact Dr. D."

"We don't?" Missile asked, bending over to grab something none of them had noticed, holding up the stereo.

"How did you…?" Kobra murmured.

"When the Dracs chased me outside, I grabbed it. And I put it in the back before you came out."

"Kid," Jet chuckled. "You're pretty amazing."

She beamed joyfully.

"Yeah," Poison agreed. "You've been with us for a day you've already saved our asses twice. You're on a roll."

She blushed and let out a cute giggle.

Poison frowned as something brushed against his leg, and he glanced down, shaking his head slightly in a bit of disbelief. Somehow, in the rush to get out of the diner, he had managed to somehow get the belt hooked onto his gun holster, never once knocking it loose despite how much sudden movement there had been. He smiled and grabbed it, lifting it up for Missile to see. "Here."

She smiled and gently took it. "Really? Thanks!" she said, leaning back and wrapping it around her waist, giggling again, truthfully feeling like a Killjoy now that they had made her look like one. And...she _was _a Killjoy, wasn't she? After what she had just done, finally helping out like she'd always wished she could, she certainly felt like one. And from what they had told her, believeing she was one was all she needed to do.

She looked up at them gleefully at that realization, almost forgetting whatever danger they were most likely still in.

Almost.

* * *

><p>"Get up, idiots!" Korse shouted, getting out of the only vehicle that had not flipped over. The three that had been in the car with him did so, along with two more from the other cars. The motorcycles were as totaled as their former riders were, however, and no one else joined them, leaving only the six of them left.<p>

They had started out the hopeful capture with seventeen.

_They're going to pay for this, _he silently vowed, furious, and then bent into the car to be assured it still worked. The engine rumbled to life, and he glanced at the Dracs. If they turned back now to get more fighters, they'd merely be risking their only lead. Right now, they knew the direction they were heading; and that was something he refused to allow to slip away.

He scowled; the four were aware he was following them, and wherever they were going, he'd make it impossible for the Killjoys to get away again.

_Eventually, _he thought, gesturing to the others to get in,_ we will get you._

And he was about to make certain that "eventually" was unquestionably tonight.

* * *

><p>"Thanks for letting us stay here," Kobra said as Dr. Death Defying handed them a blanket from the small closet of his place. Not that it was cold, (in fact, it was quite the opposite), but they wanted to be sure Missile was comfortable, having just gotten over her illness and all.<p>

"Sure, Kid," the Doc nodded, closing the door. "That little girl shouldn't be outside all night."

"I'm Missile Kid," she politely introduced herself, coming to stand beside the blonde, and Dr. D smiled. "Is that so? Well, nice to meet you, Missile!"

She grinned and then ran a hand across her forehead, smudging some of the dirt she hadn't realized was there. She grimaced and brushed it off on her jeans.

Dr. D looked at her for a moment, then at the others, who were even dirtier than her. "I got a couple containers of water in the bathroom, if you guys wanna wash up. You look like you need it," he added, his tone as far as it could possibly be from joking.

"Are you sure?" Ghoul asked, frowning. The four had originally done that as much as they could, but as water had become more difficult to acquire, they'd realized they would have to get used to the dirt and sand and grime that caked onto them. Even then, they'd aimed for every week, but that had turned into every two, and then, finally, just whenever they could manage it. It wasn't like any of them or the others even noticed anymore; getting anything more than your hands clean had become more like that luxury everyone wanted but moved on from because they were well aware they couldn't have it.

"Yeah," Dr. D shrugged. "We got enough."

Missile, along with the others, smiled gratefully.

"You can go first," Jet said, gesturing at her, and she sighed. "Really?"

"Yeah, of course, go 'head," Poison nodded tiredly, and she grinned. "Thank you," she said, and Dr. D pointed at the small hallway beside them. "All the way down and to the left."

She thanked them again and hurried to the room.

"It's a little dark in there," Dr. D called. "The light's broken; we've only got the flashlight by the door."

"Got it!" came the reply a moment later.

"She's a sweet kid," Dr D said, wheeling over to his desk.

"Yeah," Jet agreed. "Her brother got captured by Dracs."

"I figured." Dr. D frowned. "Glad you found her when you did."

Jet nodded, hesitated, then spoke again. "They're trying to get her, too. Her dad works for BLI."

Dr. D slowly turned to him, frowning like he was deep in thought.

"What is it?" Ghoul asked.

"Nothing." Dr. D shook his head, facing his desk again and then repeating himself, quieter. "Nothing."

"Party?"

Poison frowned, along with the others, as Missile Kid's small voice called out to him, and he glanced at them before he cautiously made his way towards the back room, tapping on the door with a knuckle. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I—I just…" she trailed off.

"The flashlight works, right?"

"Well, yeah, but I'm…can you just stand there?"

"Um, sure," Poison replied, frowning in confusion but leaning back against the wall. "You sure you're okay?"

A pause, then; "I'm scared of the dark."

Poison was taken aback for a brief second. Coming from the girl who'd just shot a missile launcher professionally, it was almost surprising. But coming from a _ten-year-old…_

"We're safe, okay?" he tried. "There's nothing to be worried about right now."

"I know, but still…can you stay?"

"Of course, I'll be right here."

"Thank you," she answered, sounding relieved, and Poison smiled.

"I'm sorry," Missile began again after a few minutes, "about making you wait there and all."

"I don't mind." Poison replied, resisting the urge to close his eyes. He could've fallen asleep on his feet, and he'd done it before, too, but he knew he wasn't too exhausted to function, and anyway, they had to be as alert as possible in case they needed to run again.

"It's just…" she continued, sounding almost as if she were feeling guilty. "I don't want my dad to find me. I don't know _what _he'd do, and I don't wanna find out."

Poison frowned sadly. "I won't let anything happen to you," he said. "I promise."

"Thanks," Missile said slowly and truthfully, and for just a minute or so, as she finished up, it really did feel like she was safer than she had been alone before, despite the almost total darkness she was surrounded in.

When the five had more or less gotten all the grime and such off of them and were back in their dusty clothes, they sat at Dr. D's couch, listening to the song he was now playing on the pirate radio station, something that may have been contentment edging at them.

"…_and hit the party with a gas can—kiss me you animal! …"_

Poison glanced at Ghoul beside him and smiled, placing a hand on his. Ghoul glanced at him tiredly through half-lidded eyes and murmured a funny sounding, "Lu'you..."

The red head chuckled, reaching out to pull him closer, loosely putting an arm around him as he rested his head on the older's chest.

"So…" the man who had almost casually roller-skated into the room holding the record now playing, Show Pony, looked them over. "You guys still being chased?"

Kobra scoffed. "Always…but I don't think Korse knows which way we went this time."

"Yeah," Jet chuckled. "Thanks to Missile here. She gave 'em a little distraction."

Missile grinned and nodded, cheerfully humming along with the song.

"Nice job, Kid." Dr. D said, and Missile giggled. "It was actually fun…it's nice to fight back for once."

"Yeah. You're damn good at it, too." Kobra said.

Dr. D leaned back in his scooter and sighed. "Guess you guys'll be staying here tonight, yeah?" he murmured after a long moment, and while Jet politely nodded, Poison turned around to look at the darkened window, startled it was already night.

"…_it's death or victory…_"

Something white flashed outside the glass, and Party tensed, frowning; was he seeing things? No _way_ they could have found them…right?

_"…drop like a bulletshell…"_

Poison reached for his ray gun, murmured, "Ghoul," to get the twenty-year-old awake and off of him. The younger blinked, looked around, and then pulled away to follow his gaze out the window, along with the others, though none of them saw anything.

_"…I'd rather go to Hell!…"_

"What is it?" Missile asked curiously.

"Not sure," Poison replied, going over to the window to get a better view of outside.

"…_let this world explode._"

And almost instantly after the song ended, the world _did _explode—at least in Poison's point of view. For the others, they simply saw several shots from ray guns hit the window, shattering it inwards and onto the Killjoy, who exclaimed and staggered back, hands up to shield his face.

"Shit!" Kobra shouted, and the three began shooting at the obvious yet still unseen enemy.

Missile gasped and jumped off the couch, crying out as someone grabbed her wrist.

"Hey!" Poison whispered, and she felt an awful pang of fear jolt through her as she saw he had blood running down his cheek from a gash below his eye. "Listen—go hide in the bathroom, okay? And lock the door!"

She hesitated, almost asked if she could help them, and then shrieked as a blast nearly caught her. Poison desperately pushed her towards the hallway. "And don't open it for anyone—I'll get you in a minute, when it's safe!"

Missile nodded and rushed off, slamming the bathroom door just as two Dracs broke the back window. Poison dodged several shots and jerked back, grabbing his gun from where it had fallen and aiming it at them.

"Poison!" Dr. D exclaimed, suddenly beside him, also shooting. "Get out of here—all of you!"

"_What? _But—"

"Go! Now!" the Doc demanded, not giving him a chance to argue. "We'll buy you as much time as we can."

Poison made eye contact with his brother, nodded ever so slightly, and then turned to get Missile. "Hey!" He pounded on the door, shooting a Drac as it tried to hit him.

She opened it, holding the flashlight close.

"Change of plans—" he said, grabbing her wrist once more and leading her out of the room.

"Let's go!" Jet hissed, hurrying past him and towards the broken back window. The three ducked out, and Poison stayed behind briefly to make sure the others got out as Missile and Jet ran towards the car, dodging and shooting.

"Ghoul!" he shouted. "Kobra!" He turned his head and spat out the blood dripping into his mouth, stepping back as the two scrambled out, and they ran towards the car, jumping in. Poison grabbed the wheel and once again floored it, speeding out onto the road, shaken and guilty they had left Dr. D and Show Pony there, despite the fact he'd _told _them to.

"Are they following us?" Poison mumbled, and Jet peered back. "No…" he breathed. "I think those two are keepin' 'em busy."

Poison coughed and tilted his head to spit out the window, unable to wipe the blood away, afraid that if he were to let go for even a second he would lose control of the car; it was currently going one hundred and ten miles an hour. One slip up and BLI wouldn't need to worry about them anymore. "'s everyone okay?"

"I think so," Kobra replied, muffled, a hand over his busted lip, but thankfully that seemed to be the worst injury.

"Y-yeah." Missile said, then looked at them. "I'm so sorry…this is all my fault."

"What, Korse?" Jet snickered. "Nah, he's been chasing us for years; it's not you."

"But it is…they want me—my _father _wants me, and they're not going to leave you alone!"

"Kid, they're _never _gonna leave us alone," Kobra frowned, looking back at her.

Poison nodded. "We won't let them get you, okay?"

Missile hesitated, and then nodded, letting out a shaky sigh. "Then I—I want a gun. To help, I mean. I feel bad I couldn't before."

Poison glanced at the others and then smiled slightly. Every gas station around _did _have a ray gun dispenser, and who would be there now, in the middle of the night, to stop them? Plus, the kid had pretty earned the right to have one; she wasn't anywhere _near _immature, like who they might have said no to.

"All right, Kid," he said.

"We'll get you a gun."

* * *

><p>"Dr. D!" Poison tried, the stereo's phone against his ear. "Hello?"<p>

Nothing. Just like the last twenty times they'd tried. He slammed it back against the radio, angered, and then leaned back slightly. "Damn," he murmured, shaking his head.

The group had decided to camp for the night, built a fire, and taken out the last remaining cans of food they had in the car. It had to have been close to morning already; they were short of sleep and feeling the effects.

"He's gotta be okay," Poison continued, though to no one in particular. "It's the radio…it's broken or something." Although it had been working the same day, there had to be a reason he wasn't answering. Bad connection, he'd _left_, gotten away—anything.

He glanced back at Missile, who had finally fallen asleep, her new ray gun cradled in her arms as if she'd somehow need it while sleeping, and he gave a small smile.

"I'm scared," she had previously told him, when they'd first settled down. "What if they find us?"

"They won't," Poison had tried to reassure her, though he hadn't been certain. "I'll keep you safe tonight, okay? We all will."

It was a relief to know his words had at least given her enough comfort to be able to rest. What saddened him most, though, was the fact that, not only had she, at the gas station, taken out the colored pencils she'd had from before and written up a letter, but she had insisted that she put it in the decorated mailbox they had passed, though she knew it most likely would never reach who she desperately wished it would.

And not one of them had had the heart to tell her no one ever picked up or sent the mail that Killjoys put in there; it was merely for hope, that one day someone _would _get the letters out to whom they were supposed to be delivered to. It was too dangerous to really try and get something to the postal service, because BLI managed and read every piece of mail that was sent out before it continued on its way. Anything from a suspected Killjoy, or one that was going to the _family _of a known Killjoy, BLI instantly attempted to track where it had been sent from, and by whom. Whether they found the person or not, the paper was then burned without a second thought.

"Here," Kobra said, shaking Party out of his thoughts to see his brother was holding out a cloth he'd dripped the small amount of water they could spare onto. He frowned and then took it, having forgotten all about the cut the glass had caused him. He wiped the rag gently over it and around his cheek, getting all the dried blood but under his chin, which he was unaware and uncaring of. "Thanks."

Kobra nodded solemnly, and then Ghoul glanced up, flicking a piece of hard, inedible food away. "What're we gonna do now?"

Poison did not reply, unwilling to admit he didn't have an idea.

"Well," Jet spoke instead, "we've obviously got Dracs after us, and—"

"Fuck the Dracs," Ghoul interrupted austerely. "I'm worried about Korse."

Jet fell silent in agreement, glancing down at the map Poison had put under the radio, his foot firmly on the edge of it. The red head had marked all the places they knew of that were hideouts of Killjoys on it, and he was sure never to let it leave his sight. It could've been considered a weapon, really—if BLI found it…

Jet did not want to finish the thought; the three of them were the only ones aware he had such a thing, and they very well knew the dangers that came with it. "We could stay with your plan, Poison; search for other Killjoys and storm BLI's headquarters."

"Then what?" Kobra demanded, shaking his head. "You think there're enough allies around here to take down that entire building? Or that're willing to try?"

"What the hell's your problem?" Jet scowled. "You're acting like we haven't got a chance."

"So crazy, right?" Kobra snapped, and then lowered his head. "Sorry. I'm just…I'm tired."

Jet shrugged. "Same for all of us. We should get some—"

The sharp crack of a twig cut him off, and they all looked at up, at first at each other and then around, standing slowly. Poison stepped towards the fire, leaning to see around it.

The white outfit of a Drac slowly came into view.

"Son of a bitch!" Ghoul breathed. "How do they keep finding us?"

Poison didn't answer, grabbing his gun and shooting at it, missing as it stepped to the side and blasted at them.

He heard a muffled shriek from behind, and they turned to see Missile pointing her weapon at another Drac, and as it grabbed for her, she shot it in the shoulder.

Poison shoved the Drac away as he went over to her, firing his gun at it, not quite sure whether he had killed it or not before he turned around anyway, helping Missile up, and then he ducked as another blast shot past them. They looked to see more Dracs appearing, unfortunately from the direction their vehicle was parked, and then glanced at Missile, not going to risk her getting hurt, and called at them to run, which they all did without hesitation.

"Shit—" Kobra cursed as he tripped slightly, and Poison steadied him, glancing back as finally they could not continue, staggering to a halt and gasping for breath. "Missile, are you—" he stopped abruptly, realizing the ten-year-old was not behind them. "Missile!"

"Where'd she—?" Jet frowned, and then they heard the blast of a gun come from over the hill, followed by a shriek.

Missile Kid fell to the ground, unable to keep running and desperately scooting away from a Drac. She no longer had a weapon—she'd dropped it while running, tried to find it, and had ended up the target of the pursuing enemy. It loomed over her, its emotionless eyes locking with her own. She winced, and then gasped as it suddenly dropped to the ground, and she turned her head to see—"Party!"

Now masked, the Killjoy brought his ray gun to his mouth and blew the smoke trailing from the end of it away, leaning down to take her hand and help her up. The other three caught up, and then froze as a voice suddenly spoke up.

"Finally."

Four figures had lined up behind them, the sun just now rising into the sky above them, and the Killjoys turned, almost directly across from the Dracs and…

Korse smirked. "You've nowhere to go now."

Poison pushed Missile back, and the girl stepped to the side of the group, frightened.

"Who said we were going to run?" Jet retorted, and Korse slowly raised his gun, revealing the X on his sleeve.

Time literally stood still; and then the eight of them aimed their guns at each other at the exact same time, and there were suddenly shots coming from every direction.

The battle lasted less than a minute. Korse had fired at the little girl, not even trying to hit her, but it had done exactly what he'd wanted. All four were distracted for a brief moment, but it'd been long enough for the Dracs to quickly take them out, leaving them motionless on the ground before the agent.

Missile exclaimed, horrified, and then felt herself grabbed from behind and dragged over to stand beside Korse and another Drac. Korse stared at her unblinkingly, then back at the Killjoys. They weren't dead—but that was exactly how they had planned it. None of them would be any use to them if so. And he would have _loved _to take them back right now, to get the information they needed as quickly as possible.

But with the other cars not here, and the six already crowded into the last vehicle—there simply wasn't a way.

And he was pretty sure the girl was the answer to all of this. If he took her, they would come right to him.

Korse raised his gun as the red-haired Killjoy took a sudden, uneven breath, his eyes fluttering open, though it was obvious he was not going to cause trouble, let alone move. His disoriented gaze immediately went to the girl, and Korse saw it. The boy clearly cared far too much about her for him not to try and rescue her.

Mind made up, Korse stared him down. "Keep running." he growled, smirking, and the girl cried out, struggling against the Drac holding her to no avail.

Like he was going to try something anyway, the Killjoy weakly twitched his fingers towards the ray gun a foot or so away from his hand, and, amused, Korse extended his foot, nudging the thing further away. Unable to do anything, Poison's eyes stayed on Missile for a moment longer before he gave a soft sigh and helplessly drifted back into unconsciousness.

He lowered his weapon. "Let's go," he ordered, and the three Dracs followed him, forcing the little girl to as well.

"Let—me—go!" she screamed. "Party! Jet! Help!" She knew it was useless, unsure if any of them would even live, and she felt the sting of tears in her eyes.

"They'll come for you," Korse chuckled as they reached the car. "Soon enough, they will." He smirked evilly. "And we'll be sure to give them a warm welcome."

"Fuck you!" Missile suddenly shouted, cursing for the first time in her life, and Korse laughed at the brief surprised look on her face. "Oh, such language for a young girl," he said, clicking his tongue. "I'm afraid you've been around far too many bad influences lately."

Missile scowled, yanking an arm free and turning, scrabbling at the Drac still holding her and accidentally ripping off his mask at the same time.

Instantly, she froze, her eyes wide in disbelief as she saw the face underneath. Not only was the face _human,_ but it was also…

"Neo?" Missile gaped, staring at her brother directly in his eyes and yet seeing nothing but lifeless, blue globes looking back at her. "Wh—what did you—?"

Overwhelmed with a sudden onset of intense emotions—fear, anger, and confusion—combined with lack of sleep and the fact that her _brother _was now a BLI agent…it was simply too much for the moment, especially after what had just happened, and with a soft sigh, Missile Kid slumped in her brother's arms.

Korse eyed the girl as the now unmasked Drac hauled her limp body into the car. She knew him? But how?

Then he smirked, finally recognizing her from a picture he'd briefly been showed of the girl a while back, whom he had also been told to look out for.

So _that's _who she was! That Party Poison and the others must have taken her in after she'd run off from the Dracs who'd gotten her brother.

Two problems to be solved in one day—he nodded in approval as he got in the driver's seat, shutting the door as he thought. He could return the girl to her father, and very soon after that could finally eliminate the Killjoys so intent on taking BLI out; every last one. And it would be all thanks to the red-haired boy, whom he would make sure watched as his friends lives were ended. He wasn't sure how he would get him to talk, but he _would_; he was more sure of that than he had been of anything else in his entire life.

Korse smiled longingly, driving off.

And then, of course, he would have the honor—and the pure _joy—_of killing Party Poison and the rest of the Fabulous Killjoys himself.


	4. Sing It For The World

Chapter Four

Sing It For The World

The sun was actually _burning _into him, or at least that's what it felt like as Poison slowly came to, his head throbbing. He mumbled several curses, struggling to his knees but unable to get much further than that. He ached terribly, but it confused him to realize it was much less than he would have expected after being nearly killed by the BLI agents.

"Jet—" he coughed from the dust kicked up from his jerky movements, clenching his teeth and crawling to the nearest Killjoy, slipping the helmet he'd had on off his head. "Wake up..."

Jet did not stir for a few moments, then groaned loudly, turning his head, his brow furrowing.

"Jet, please, get up, we have to—"

"Party…"

Poison glanced behind him to his younger brother, who winced and then opened his eyes, forcing himself to sit up after a moment, blinking at him. "What…?"

"Wake him up!" Poison gestured at where his boyfriend was sprawled on his stomach a few yards back, and, with another cringe from moving, Kobra managed to make his way over to him.

Poison watched him for a moment, concerned and hoping Ghoul was as unharmed as they were. He waited until Kobra had shaken his shoulder, successfully getting a soft moan from him, and then he turned his attention back to Jet, seeing his eyes were now open and on him as he managed to ask, "You okay?"

"Sure. Are you?"

Jet sat up and carefully moved his limbs, wincing and yet feeling nothing more than some bruises and a lingering ache. "Yeah, actually—I don't feel like I was shot."

"I don't, either," the red head replied, frowning despite the fact that was a good thing. He looked at his brother and then his boyfriend as he lifted himself up a bit and raised his head, blearily looking back at him, dazed but alive nonetheless. They were perfectly fine; in fact, the sunburn the four had gotten due to being still for so long was about the worst injury any of them had.

"Where's Missile?" Ghoul finally asked, and Poison closed his eyes briefly. "They took her."

"Damn it…" Jet muttered, getting to his feet, and then frowned. "What the hell's going on? They could have killed us—I thought for sure they_ had_."

"Then he wasn't trying to." Kobra said, standing along with the other two. "He wanted the girl, and he stunned us. That's it."

"But," Ghoul wondered aloud, "why wouldn't he just get rid of us while he had the chance?"

"Doesn't matter," Poison shook his head, determination overcoming his weariness. Without hesitation, he turned and began walking back towards the camp they'd made before, and after a moment the others did, too.

When they finally reached where the fire had once been burning, they found that, thankfully, their car was still parked where they'd left it, obviously now unguarded, and nothing that belonged to them had been taken.

"…et Star…ou ther—?"

The four turned instantly towards the burst of static and half formed words, and Jet bent down next to the radio, taking the phone. "Dr. D?" he called into it, hardly expecting a response, let alone one they could understand.

"Hey! Kid!" the Doc's voice finally steadied. "Jesus, we've been trying to reach you for hours!"

"We got attacked, Doc." Jet sighed, looking at Poison as he spoke, noticing the small flinch he gave when he added, "They have Missile Kid."

There was silence for around ten seconds, and they almost believed they'd lost the connection again, but then Dr. D answered. "Sorry. I tried to keep 'em back, but they got away."

"Wasn't your fault," Jet replied. "It was Korse."

"And he's going to pay for it." Poison murmured without realizing it, but he met their gazes strongly, unwaveringly.

"Where are you?" Dr. D continued. "Are you hurt?"

Jet looked at the radio again. "Nah, we're fine. And we're—" He cut off as the phone was suddenly yanked out of his grip, and he heard Party finish his sentence, _not _with the words he'd meant.

"And we're going to get Missile back. Right now."

"Go to BLI? Alone? That's sui—"

"If we leave her there overnight, who knows what they'll do to her?" The Killjoy glanced at the others, who had understanding and agreeing looks on their faces. "Are you guys with me?"

"Of course," Ghoul immediately replied, and Kobra nodded. "I am, too."

Jet sighed and then gave a small, exhausted smile. "All the way," he said.

"All right, kid," Dr. D sighed, having heard them. "We'll meet you there, then. First sign of danger and we're getting you the hell out of there."

"Fine," Poison replied, and then added, "See ya." He did not release the phone however, thinking deeply, and the others watched his expression turn even more solemn. "If we don't—" he stopped, hesitated, then swallowed hard. "Just make sure you get Missile out, okay? No matter what happens."

"Will do," the Doc said after a moment, and Poison clicked the phone back on to the radio, staring at the drawing the girl had put on it. He'd _promised _he wouldn't let anything happen to her, and yet, look what position she was in now! Who knew what those bastards could try and convince her of? She was strong-minded, but so had been some of the Killjoys they'd seen captured before, and none had been heard from again.

Standing, Poison looked at the others, never once thinking he was forgetting something potentially dangerous, entirely focused on Missile Kid.

"Let's go."

* * *

><p>"Everything the Killjoys have told you is wrong. Do you understand?"<p>

Missile Kid glared at the Asian woman in front of her, dressed in an un-colorful business suit and acting as if the ten-year-old was honestly going to believe her, speaking almost like she was her _teacher._

"What _you _keep telling me is wrong!" Missile rolled her eyes. "You've been saying that for an hour! I don't trust you, and I never will!"

"You're so young." the woman said. "You could still live a normal life. Just cooperate with us, please." She eyed her carefully, adding, "And you don't have a chance of escape, anyway."

Missile stared at the woman. She'd introduced herself, when Missile had been led into the office-like room, as Newsagogo. She was the spokeswoman for BLI, whom Missile had seen before on television in her parent's house advertising medications and such, but she did not seem as violent as the other agents in the building—Korse and the Dracs and everyone else. At least, not from what she had seen. But she was just as crazy as the rest of them, even _more _so because she really was convinced she would be able to change the girl's thought process.

"Never," Missile said finally.

"We don't know the meaning of that word here," News countered, smiling.

"Mm, okay. It means, not _now, _or _ever_. Do you understand?" Her voice mocked the exact way the woman had said the same thing to her before.

With a sigh that was slightly exasperated, News sat back in her chair. Missile remained stiffly upright in hers, afraid to let her guard down for even the briefest moment. She made eye contact with the woman, and did not break it until she looked away herself, standing impatiently. "Maybe we can get you to change your mind over something to eat, hmm?"

Missile forced herself to keep silent, though the thought of real food enticed her.

Apparently sensing some sort of emotion shift, News smiled in a sickly sweet way. She walked over to her, took her wrist, and gently pulled her to her feet, leading her out of the room. As she passed a Drac, she whispered into the thing's ear, something Missile could not make out, and then smiled as it went off. "How would you like something other than dog food for once, hmm?" She looked at her.

"I—" Missile clamped her lips together, angry she could have even started to reply with anything but a firm _no. _

But, she _was_ really hungry…

_D__on't even think about it! _

News again smiled, seemingly amused at her inward conflict, which she was completely unaware was very noticeable. "You will not mind it, then? Good. Let's go." she said quickly, leading the girl down the hall.

Thirty minutes later—what felt like a _year_—Missile was still sitting in the chair the woman had pulled out for her, staring at the untouched food in front of her, then up at News, and back in a slow, repetitive cycle. The woman had finished by now, and looked at Missile, very much having noticed her not eating before but pretending as if she hadn't. "Oh, that was wonderful, don't you think?"

Missile bit her tongue to prevent herself from repeating what she had previously said to Korse, and News feigned she just then saw her plate was still full of food. "You didn't eat? Why?"

"You're screwing with my head already," Missile replied after a moment. "I won't let you make that easier."

News looked taken aback. "You think we put something in your food?"

"Why not?" Missile leaned back finally, but it was in more of a sardonic way than her actually relaxing. "If you drugged away my emotions, I'd be easier to convince. I'm not stupid enough to fall for it."

News smirked and shook her head. "Those Killjoys told you some very interesting things about us, didn't they?"

"Not much. Other than what I already knew; that being you're brainwashing everyone without a second thought."

"We prefer the term _correcting,_" News replied, dabbing her lips with a napkin. "And it is not a bad thing we are trying to do."

"Not a bad thing!" Missile scoffed loudly, crossing her arms and taking on the most sarcastic tone News had ever heard. "_No, _no 'cause ripping the emotions out of people and planting fake happiness in 'em instead is _totally _how people are supposed to live." She rolled her eyes. "Keep telling yourselves that."

News sighed and shook her head once again. "You'll be able to understand soon. _Very _soon, in fact."

"You _assholes _will never brainwash me." Missile growled. "No matter what you do, or what you say, I will _never _believe anything you do is right!"

"Little girls should not be speaking like that," News scolded.

"Killjoys do whatever the hell they want."

"And that _attitude—_ugh! What would your father think?"

"How about, _I don't care?_"

"I'm sure you will change your mind. He will be with you shortly."

Missile nearly got another curse out, having just about had it with this woman, but before she could, a strident alarm went off, causing her to flinch and News' attention to immediately leave her, though she still grabbed her, pulled her away from the table, and dragged her out of the dining room.

Missile attempted to get out of her grasp, but gave up when she finally realized it was pointless. Where exactly did she expect to run to, even if she _did _get away? It had been made very clear by both News and her own eyes that the place was swarming with armed Dracs, that she definitely could not fight against. She had her words and mind, but when it came to physical qualities, such as fighting her way out of the place, she had to remember she was still small and completely powerless. She couldn't even throw a punch, let alone defend herself without a weapon.

And as she was led into another room and told to sit on the floor, she couldn't help but think how News had been right; she _didn't _have a chance.

But as her eyes traveled up along the extremely advanced technology some Dracs were sitting at, her gaze settled on a television screen, projecting feed from the security cameras outside the headquarters. Her heart leapt up into her throat in excitement, and she glanced at News, who was leaning against the wall behind them, making eye contact with her and smirking.

News smiled back like it didn't bother her, and then frowned again in the same instant, looking back to the screen that showed the four figures crossing the bridge outside and walking purposefully towards the building. But the thought had been very obviously mutual—though it had been pleasant for Missile, and not so much for News.

_Now _she had a chance; a very good one, in fact.

News stepped forward and spoke softly to a Drac, then smirked, stepping back again and confusing Missile. She walked past the Dracs, murmured to herself inaudibly, and left the room.

Missile remained where she was for around another minute, and then several ray gun blasts shot past the glass doors of the room, and the people she almost believed she'd never see again burst into the room, shooting the Dracs at the chairs before they could realize what was happening.

Missile stood as Party Poison dropped to one knee and held out his arms, embracing her tightly, relieved she was all right.

"You're okay!" she breathed, and Poison swallowed hard without replying. He gave something of a shiver, and Missile vaguely felt it, frowning.

"Guys, come on!" Kobra called from the hall before she could question about it, and Poison finally pulled back, forcing a smile. Then, they followed Ghoul and Jet out, beginning to walk swiftly towards the exit, Missile in front in case anyone tried to attack them from behind.

And sure enough, as they reached the lobby of the building, an elevator behind them beeped loudly, and a single shot fired past them.

The four turned around, immediately grabbing their own weapons as the Dracs began firing continuously at them, led by Korse, who held his weapon stiffly by his side.

Missile watched as the fighting increased, terrified, but could neither fight nor move in any direction for fear of being hit, and so she placed her hands over her ears to block out the awful noise, though it did little to nothing.

Poison backed off towards the wall behind him, finding himself next to a Drac aiming at his brother. "Bastard!" he exclaimed, shooting it in the back before it could hurt Kobra and then reaching up to rip its mask off in anger, something none of them had ever done before.

Whatever he had expected to see—and he wasn't sure he'd been expecting _anything_—it certainly was _not_ what he saw as the figure fell to the ground, lifeless.

"Neo…?" he whispered, staring first at Missile's brother, then at the mask he held, and finally at Missile. She wasn't facing him.

_Please don't turn around—just don't do it._

Poison looked back down at the now dead man, taking slow breaths, though even then was unable to shake himself out of the daze he fell into as the realization hit him.

They'd been killing brainwashed people all this time_—humans, _not mindless, robotic programs like they'd assumed. He almost felt as if he were going to be sick—the Killjoys that had been captured…had he and the others…?

He looked up at the fight he'd almost forgot was happening, firing shots, but his own thoughts were disorienting him awfully, and he missed each time, casting glances back at the mask. _No, you can't kill them! What if they're Killjoys?—I have to, they'll kill _us _if I—God, you can't!_

From across the room, Korse saw his chance. Gun gripped tightly, the agent strolled almost casually over to the distracted Killjoy, grabbed his jacket, and shoving him roughly against the wall, pinning him there, placing his weapon calmly under his chin.

The red head looked unblinkingly back at the man in what could have appeared as defiance from afar.

But Korse saw his true emotions; he was too close to him not to. He deciphered the fear, the utter _terror _inside the hazel eyes, and he smirked. Enjoying the moment, he tilted his head slightly and pulled the trigger. A shrill scream rang out from behind him.

Poison's eyes immediately shut, and Korse released him as he slid to the floor, staring down at him.

A sharp pain exploded across his right leg, and he staggered, turning in time to see the Killjoy's brother staring at him, eyes wide in disbelief and horror, and then a shot connected with him, and he dropped to the tile, his hand sliding off of his chest as he went motionless.

Ghoul, Jet, and Missile gaped at the scene, but had no choice other than to rush to the exit, for the girl's sake. Ghoul glanced back at his boyfriend for an instant that felt like forever, fighting against the tears that stung his eyes and then spilled over anyway. _No, please, baby, don't leave me..._he silently pleaded, waiting for him to get up and rejoin the fight. Killjoys didn't die. They just..._didn't._ Not him, anyway. Not Party Poison. Not the love of his life.

Party was still. His cherry hair hung over his face, his closed eyes. Eyes that would never open again, Ghoul realized.

The twenty-year-old clenched his teeth, his mind set on what he was going to do, and then he turned his attention away, slamming the door behind the others as they got out, locking it.

Jet turned around, eyes wide. "What're you—"

"Save yourself!" Ghoul shouted through the glass, incapable of understanding how his voice had come out so strong while he cried. "I'll hold them back!"

With that, Ghoul faced the attacking Dracs once more, managing to hit several before his shoulder suddenly took a blast. An exhaustion spread throughout him, yet he remained on his feet, his anger and need for revenge against his love's killers spurring him on, firing a few more times before another shot caused his world to go dark.

The Dracs rushed past his collapsed form without a moment's hesitation.

Jet had Missile's hand gripped in his as he pulled her away from the scene, noticing a van was pulling up beside where they had parked the car. He released Missile, yelled, "Don't stop running!" and then paused, turning to fire at the persuing enemies.

Without knowing it right away, Missile had gotten way ahead of Jet, and as she realized this she heard several more shots, a shout, and a loud, almost metallic _thud_, not needing to turn around to know what had happened.

The van door opened, and she saw Dr. D's form in the back, holding his arms out to help her, his eyes wide as he saw she was completely alone. She practically slammed into him, and the door quickly shut, driving off as shots fired all around them, bouncing off the side of the vehicle.

"Kid!" Dr. D tried, and she staggered back, tears pouring down her face.

"Are you all right?"

"I—I—_I _am, but—" she cut off and slid to the bottom, taking several long, deep breaths to compose herself and running a trembling hand across her eyes to clear her vision.

"The others?" Dr. D finally asked, fearing the answer he already knew.

"No." Missile sniffed, looking up at him as the tears unwillingly continued to fall. Her voice was as weak as the rest of her as she spoke again, like she was trying to confirm the fact to herself even though she knew it was true.

"No. They're dead."


	5. Dead! ?

Chapter Five

Dead!…?

_Dead. I'm dead._

It was the first and only thought that crossed Ghoul's mind as he slowly became aware he, in fact, _wasn't _dead. After everything that had happened, it seemed impossible he could still be breathing, that he could still feel his heart beating his chest, speeding up as his mind continued to race. The others—?

He groaned, forced his eyes opened, blinked twice, and saw a figure lean over him, a bright ceiling light peering around its shoulders and causing him to wince and his vision to remain as blurred as it was. He immediately believed it was a Drac, or worse, and he weakly raised his arms, ready to fight it to the best of his ability.

"Whoa, Ghoul!"

Ghoul felt hands pinning him down, the fog he was looking through finally clearing enough to see the figure was Jet, worriedly looking down at him.

"Damn, sorry…" Ghoul murmured, and Jet released him as he sat up, looking around. He, Jet, and Kobra, who was over to the side, sitting silently with his back against the wall, were in an utterly bare, very warm room, about the size of the smallest backroom of the diner. The walls were almost blindingly white, there were no windows, and at first it seemed like no door, either; it blended in perfectly with the other parts of the room, only able to be told apart from the rest of the nothingness by the silvery door knob.

Ghoul got to his feet.

"Don't bother; it's locked from the outside." Jet said.

"Where's Party?" Ghoul asked quietly, feeling for his gun, only to find his entire holster gone, glancing at the others and seeing theirs were missing as well.

"Wish we knew." Kobra muttered, not moving. His expression was blank, but he was obviously extremely distressed after what he had witnessed—ten feet from him—and what he'd been unable to stop.

"If we weren't killed, I don't think he would be, either," Jet tried, though of course couldn't blame him for fearing for his brother's life. Ghoul had turned a bit pale at the words, though, and he, along with them, desperately wished they knew the leader's current condition.

"It sure looked like it," Kobra replied softly, and then shook his head, lowering it onto his knees as he tucked them to his chest. He silently gasped and clenched his teeth at the sheer agony that came from him moving his ankle, but he made no sound; he must have twisted it or something when he'd gotten shot before. He refused to complain about it, however, especially not when they were in such a situation; they had more important things to be worried about.

Ghoul looked at Jet again. "Has anyone come in?"

He shook his head. "Not since we've been up."

Ghoul sighed and leaned against the wall, feeling very strange, almost sick to his stomach. "Did Missile Kid get away?"

Jet hesitated for a moment. "I think so." he replied, then lowered his voice slightly, almost nervously. "I saw the van, with Dr. D and some others, but…" he shrugged. "I don't remember seeing her get in."

"She had to of," Ghoul said, frowning. "They wouldn't have left her there."

"They left_ us_ here," Kobra muttered, and then his entire body tensed, like he regretted saying it out loud.

Jet glanced at him. "Yeah, Kid—because they think we're _dead_. Missile—oh, _God_, she saw us get shot, right in front of her." He leaned against the wall, and then looked away as the blonde flinched at the words. "Sorry."

Kobra shrugged, so slightly it was virtually impossible to see. _It's my fault, anyway. _He squeezed his eyes shut; he'd been screwing around out there, during the fight, not paying attention as well as he could have.

_I could have stopped it. I could have stopped _him_. But no—I shot him _after_, after it didn't count anymore._

He shook his head, realizing the only thing he could do was hope his brother was still alive. What Jet had said made sense; he didn't know of a reason Korse would kill one of them but leave the rest.

He unknowingly ran a hand over his cheek, realizing after a moment he'd been wiping away the tears he hadn't felt falling, unable to help wonder that, with whatever the man had planned for them…would it simply have been better off they all _had _died?

_No, don't think like that, _he told himself, and then reached down to place a hand around his throbbing ankle, like he expected that to do something for the pain, but it didn't. And the thoughts continued to replay in his head, no matter how much he wished them to go away.

_Please let this just be a dream…_

* * *

><p>Missile Kid stepped out of the van as it arrived at Dr. D's place, not even hearing Show Pony, who'd been in the passenger seat, or the driver, who'd introduced herself as DJ Hot Chimp, as they called to her.<p>

She'd been in an absolute daze the entire drive back, still not able to shake it now. The Killjoys she'd been accepted by so quickly, the ones everyone looked up to, the only people other than her brother and mother she'd felt had cared for her in her entire life…were gone. Dead. Never to be seen again.

"Missile!"

The ten-year-old finally heard Dr. D, and she turned to him as he wheeled over to her. "Kid," he continued, "it wasn't your fault..."

"They're still gone. Doesn't matter if it was or not."

All four's hearts were already aching from the loss of the others, but the little girl was breaking them.

"There was nothing you could have done!" Show Pony pointed out, and Missile kicked a rock, shoving her hands in her pockets. "Exactly."

"Please don't beat yourself up," DJ frowned

"I'm not, I just…wish they were…" She shut her mouth as her voice cracked and her throat burned, trying not to cry again. She took a breath, exhaled slowly, and then looked up at them. "I want to help take them down. As soon as we can."

"Sweetie," DJ began sadly, "we don't have enough people right now—"

"Then let's get more!" Missile interrupted. "We can go find more Killjoys! We can get all of them together and finally destroy that place."

"That's a lot more difficult than it sounds…" Dr. D said, his gaze only half on her, just as in shock from the events as the others were.

"Why?"

"Well, for one, Killjoys move around all the time. And even if—"

"Use your station!" Missile offered, and the Doc sighed. "I can't—after I contacted the guys, it stopped working all together. The Dracs really did a number on my whole place." He paused, thinking. "The radio the four were using was fine. Do you remember where you stayed that night?"

Missile thought for a moment. "Yeah, kind of."

"Then we can try to use theirs." Dr. D said, and turned. "We'll search in the morning."

"Why not now?"

"It's dark, Kid. It'll be impossible to find the place tonight. And we're all...after..." he trailed off. "Not tonight. BLI isn't going anywhere."

Missile sighed, knowing he was right. "Fine," she said, crossing her arms and looking at them seriously. In fact, she'd never been so serious about anything in her entire life. "But tomorrow."

"Not every Killjoy has a radio." DJ pointed out. "And not everyone who does is willing to risk their lives in a huge fight just yet. Especially after they hear about what's happened..."

"We can always try." Missile said, thinking of what Party had told her before about her brother and feeling another pang of dejection.

DJ smiled sadly. "We always can. And we will."

* * *

><p>Several sharp, stinging slaps across his already smarting face was what brought Party back from a seemingly endless black void, though he could not bring himself to open his eyes. All he wanted to do was sleep—to escape the awful pain in both his head and chin.<p>

He groaned softly and shifted a bit, drifting off again, until the coldest water he had ever felt in his entire life suddenly poured onto him, soaking him instantly and causing him to jerk upright in shock, crying out when his breath returned to him a moment later, his eyes wide and frantic.

"Oh good, you're up."

Korse's voice echoed in his ears, distorted, and he blinked up at the BLI agent, his vision clearing to see him smirk, setting a white, plastic bucket down.

"I was getting a little impatient."

"Fuck you!" Poison cursed, moving his arm to swing at him, only to find both of his wrists were tied tightly to the arm rests of the chair he just then realized he was in, his ankles to the legs. His eyes widened, staring down at himself, disoriented. "What—?"

Korse, instead, was the one who struck _him_, and Poison held back a groan of pain.

"Watch your lip," the man growled, and then turned, taking a step away from the chair. Poison winced and glanced around the plain, empty, small room, and only then did his memory come back. The fight, being shot—what the hell was he _doing _here, alive? And if he was still breathing, then did that mean...?

"Where are the others?" he demanded, almost afraid of the answer.

Korse did not reply for a moment, then; "They are alive, as are you. For now." He hadn't even a need to look at the boy's expression to know he was confused, and he chuckled. "You were merely hit with a stun gun, both times; new for us, as we usually want to fully kill you pathetic things." He smirked. "We _did_ make sure, however, it _felt _like a real shot…"

Party opened his mouth to retort, but instead shuddered from the cold; the room felt like it was a freezer.

"You will cooperate, or I will enjoy _actually _killing them."

"What do you mean, _'cooperate'_? I'm not joining BLI, if that's what you crazy son of a bitches think—"

Another slap cut him off, so fast the Killjoy had not even seen him turn around. "Shut up."

"Go fuck yourself!" Poison snapped defiantly, and Korse resisted the urge to knock the entire chair over. He struck the boy several times more, a hand up even after he stopped in case he spoke again.

Poison lifted his head after a moment. "Done yet?" he asked tauntingly, refusing to show the man was causing him pain.

Korse smirked again, gave him another harsh blow, and then replied, "Oh, no, boy; I've only just begun." He watched another shiver run through the Killjoy as he struggled to recover. "It's quite hot in here, don't you think?"

Poison did not reply, his eyes on the agent as he walked over to the wall and tapped on the little pad near the door. The A.C. immediately came on, directly above Party, though he still showed no emotion.

"That's better, hmm?" Korse chuckled. "Now, I'm going to ask you a question, and you will answer it truthfully."

Poison couldn't help but smile mockingly. The guy was out of his Goddamn _mind _if he believed that's how things were going to go.

Korse glared. "Where are the other Killjoys?"

"Why did you take the girl?"

The agent slapped him. "You don't ask here."

"_Why did you take her?_ Did you really care about her? Or just—" he paused and clenched his teeth as another shudder racked him. "Or you wanted us to come to you?"

"That _was _correct." Korse scowled. "Until I discovered who she was. She will be found again. She is still young, and her father wishes to allow her to live a normal life. Hopefully she will come willingly, or—"

"Fucking leave her out of this!" Party exclaimed, yanking on his restraints. "You _touch _her, and I _swear _I'll—"

Korse wheeled back and struck him across the side of his head before he could finish, so hard a bright light flashed, and he almost lost consciousness.

"You cannot make threats in your position, Gerard."

"Damn it, don't call me that!"

"Your name is Gerard Way." Korse said. _Might as well start somewhere._

"Fuck _no_ it's not! Not anymore!" Poison grunted as the man hit him again. "Stop it, asshole!"

Korse only smacked him yet again, and the Killjoy felt blood trickle down from his lower lip, finally silencing himself with a wince.

"Party Poison does not exist." Korse said, monotone. "Understand?"

The red head violently shook, from either the cold or anger or some mixture of both, and when he looked up again, his eyes had only gotten brighter. "You know what I understand?" he countered, smirking. "We're going to kill you—and everyone else at BLI. This _whole fucking place _is gonna go down. Do _you _understand?"

Party blinked and raised his head, confused until he realized he'd blacked out for a moment or two as the man had whacked him again. The agent noticed, but honestly couldn't have cared less, pausing until he was sure the red head could hear him again. "You can't possibly believe you have a chance anymore, Way. It was very clear to the others you four were dead, so no one is coming to rescue you. And there are hundreds of guards on this floor alone, so you haven't a hope of escaping yourself."

"_We _don't need to," Party said slowly, still dazed and almost literally seeing stars. "The others will take you out themselves."

"Really?" Korse mocked. "You think there are enough of you rebels to overtake this _entire _building, or even stand a chance in doing so?"

"Yeah. And they _will_."

"No. They won't. Your luck's run out, boy."

"So has yours," Poison snapped, anger giving him a bit of his energy back. "You're gonna fucking get it. I'll make _sure _of that."

"Making threats again, hmm?" Korse struck him, and it took all the strength he had not to groan in pain. "Have you forgotten I also have your three allies? That I have the power to get rid of them if you irritate me enough?"

"If you _touch _them—" Poison growled, but cut off and flinched Korse hit him again, unable to stop himself from giving a soft moan this time.

Satisfied he'd finally gotten a reaction, Korse smirked. "I won't have to. I will call someone with a _real _gun, and they will be off of my list of problems immediately. I might even make you watch."

"Don't," Poison said softly, the thought horrifying, and Korse glared. "Then _tell _me what I want to know!"

"I don't even know what you're asking!"

Korse scowled. "You know _exactly _what I want."

"What, to kill all of us? That's pretty fucking clear!"

The agent struck him yet again, much harder than he'd meant to, and then waited for him to raise his head, rolling his eyes as all the Killjoy did was give what sounded like a very quiet whimper, barely conscious.

Korse turned around, looked at his watch, and then sighed. Obviously they weren't going to get anywhere right now, and he had things to do. "All right, Way. I'll give you the night to think about it." He walked over to the door, opening it to call in two Dracs.

"Do not allow him to fall asleep." Korse ordered as they entered, smirking. "He needs all the time I'm giving him to think."

The Dracs nodded simultaneously, and Korse glanced back at the weary Killjoy, who had finally managed to look up. "Good night, Gerard," he called sardonically, enjoying the glare of utter hatred he got from the boy as he continued on out of the room, reaching back and downing the temperature a degree lower. Then, his smile increasing, he shut the door behind him.

_We'll see how defiant he is tomorrow…_

* * *

><p>Missile stared ahead of her as she, Dr. D, DJ, and Show Pony halted at the edge of the small campsite she and the others had stayed at two nights before. The fire pit had, of course, long since died out, and she stepped up to the edge of it, shaking her head and trying to focus on what they had come to get, pushing the sadness back.<p>

"I found it," DJ called, and they went over to her kneeled form as she tapped the top of the Killjoy's radio gently with her hand.

Dr. D parked his scooter and reached down to grab it, placing it on his lap, regarding it sadly for a moment, for more reasons than one. Would this really work? The radio had been only used by the four to _contact _the Doc—would it be able to project him to the radio of all the other Killjoys?

With a hopeful sigh, Dr. D twisted the knob several times to set it and slowly brought the phone to his ear. "…Callin' all Killjoys…"

The three beside him immediately turned around, their attention back to the van.

Missile shot off with sudden energy she hadn't been aware she had, reaching the vehicle within seconds and shouting, "Say something else!"

Dr. D instead coughed, and yet she still vaguely heard it on the van's radio. _Thank you… _"It works!"

DJ punched the air slightly, as thrilled as she could be after what had happened. "Yes!" she hissed, and Pony gave a soft laugh of relief.

Dr. D shook his head, smiled, and then, with a much louder, much more confident voice, began again. "Callin' all Killjoys out in the Zones! We've got a situation we'd like some back up for…"

Missile sighed and leaned back in the seat as the Doc continued to explain, leaving out exactly _who _had been killed by BLI but unknowingly giving out subtle hints that it had been the four.

_Or maybe, _she thought, _that's because I know. Because I was there. _She understood however why he would not want to immediately reveal the people all the Killjoys looked up to were in fact the "four to be dearly missed."

_No. _No, BLI had gone too far this time, at least for her, though she knew the feeling of anger was shared. First her brother, whom she still was not sure was alive or not, then her, and then _this_...

_They'll pay. _She scowled, furious. In actuality, that wasn't even the _word _to describe what she felt. If she could have, she would currently have had enough energy and anger to take out the headquarters herself.

As Dr. D finished the transmission, she stepped out and went over to the three.

"Well," the Doc sighed. "That's done. Now we just have to wait to see if anyone heard it."

"There have to be some Killjoys that still have radios," Pony said.

"I just hope they work well enough that they got it." the Doc sighed.

DJ nodded, and then frowned as Missile bent down further away from them and picked a paper up. She stared at it for a moment and then shook the sand off, folding and placing it in her pocket before they could see what it was, starting off into the grassy area beside them.

"What're you doing?" Dr. D called, concerned until she turned back, a smile of determination on her face.

"I'm going to find my gun."


	6. Process The Progress

Chapter Six

Process The Progress

He couldn't stop shaking.

It wasn't exactly _surprising_, considering the method the two Dracs had started off with to keep him awake had been dumping more water on him. They'd instead resorted to simply smacking him whenever he closed his eyes, either because they finally realized soaking him continuously was only causing his exhaustion to increase, or had just gotten tired of leaving to fill the bucket Korse had left.

Party Poison winced as he was slapped again, raising his head and forcing his eyes open. The figures in front of him went in and out of focus, making him dizzy, and he couldn't help but groan. He hadn't slept—other than being stunned for an hour or two twice, which did nothing but make him more tired when he awoke—since the morning Missile had woken up. That'd been what, almost three days ago? And this particular night honestly felt as if it were never going to end. He was permanently stuck in an utterly silent, freezing cold hell, and even when day came—which he'd never know about, as there were no windows—he'd still be tied to the same chair, only it would be Korse interrogating him instead of the Dracs keeping watch.

A strong shudder racked him, and he groaned again. He was so cold! His clothes—though thankfully not _as _wet as they once had been—still clung to him tightly, continuing to suck any heat he'd once had in his body away and preventing it from coming back. He, more than once, had almost wished he could just submit and give Korse what he wanted so he would release him, or at least warm the room up.

_No,_ he told himself sternly, irritated at how selfish that was; _don't let these assholes get to you._

But the thought wouldn't go away even as he blinked hard, feeling another wave of fatigue try to overwhelm him. His eyes closed, and for a blissful moment, everything went dark. Two sharp blows woke him, and he scowled up at the figure above him. "Fuck off!" he mumbled, and then gasped and cried out as the Drac grabbed his chair and tilted it, like it was going to allow him to fall, and then steadied it before it toppled over.

The Killjoy exhaled sharply in relief, his eyes dull but widened in surprise.

The Drac stepped back and stared at him, and Party glanced away from the emotionless eyes, not wanting to think about who was under the mask. It then turned around with the other as the door's lock clicked and opened, and the Exterminator came in. "You may leave," he said, hesitating thoughtfully and then quietly murmuring to them as they passed.

Korse waited for the two to nod at the order and leave before he placed his hands behind his back, moving his attention to the red head, who he was pleased to see looked thoroughly exhausted, trembling and very pale, his bright hair hanging in wet strands across his face. "Good morning, Gerard," he smirked, a bit surprised when the boy only glared without correcting him, sighing when he finally murmured, "P-Party Poison." His voice was soft, almost a whisper, as if it were painful to speak.

"That isn't your name."

"_Yes, _it _is._" he said, louder. "I don't c-care_ how_ many times you—" he cut off and coughed several times, his throat dry from thirst, and Korse raised an eyebrow as, finally, he stopped and mumbled, "—you t-tell me it's not!"

"Give it up, boy." Korse said, looking him over. "Do you not realize how weak you very clearly are?" Shaking his head, he chuckled. "Even if I untied you, you would be able to do _nothing._"

The Killjoy coughed again, blinked at him, and then said challengingly, "Try me."

Korse smirked. "I am, Way. I'm trying you and your endurance at this very moment." He paused, taking a step closer. "It will be interesting to see how long it takes before you simply hand over the information willingly."

"Never."

"We'll see. I've not yet done everything I could. You will change your mind."

"Right, sure," Party muttered, grimacing, and then did not resume the protest of being called what he had, his attention diverted by another subject now. "So those D-Dracs," he began after a moment. "Are they brainwashed Killjoys, too?"

"It's such a shame you all refuse to go voluntarily. But then again, not even the people who formally lived in the city do most of the time."

"You b-bastards," Poison spat. "Them, too, huh? I swear y-you'll pay for this."

"You sound _very _threatening."

"Fuck you!"

Korse rolled his eyes, hitting him without a second thought, and Poison let out a choked sob, shaking his throbbing head and moaning, "_Stop_…"

Korse gave a sickening smile; at least he was reaching him _somehow_. "Tell me where there are other Killjoys."

The red head was silent for a moment. "C-couldn't tell you if I wanted to…"

"Why not?" Korse scowled, and Poison glared at him. "You think we're stupid enough t-to stay in one place for long?"

Korse glared back. "They look up to you, Way. You must know something. Where they meet, where they get food—anything. We have guards at every gas station, every store, and yet—"

"That's how y-you found us…" the Killjoy murmured absentmindedly. The man who'd been looking at him so strangely while getting water…he'd _alerted _BLI! But even so, that didn't explain how they had discovered the diner…

Seemingly reading his mind, Korse smirked. "Not every Killjoy is as resisting as you are. Neo, was it?"

Poison flinched and winced.

"A pity you killed him…we could have used him to get his sister back…"

"You son of a—"

Korse silenced him with a slap. "Anything you say, your allies follow it; all of them. I've heard the name _Party Poison _too many times to count from captured Killjoys—you must be aware of some of their hideouts."

"Damn it, I'm not!" Poison scowled. "I don't know where anyone is!"

"You're lying," Korse said calmly. "You _do_ know. I don't care if it's one or ten, _tell me_."

"I don't know!" he insisted, and then coughed several times more. "Why the hell d-do you need m-me to tell you?" he finally stammered. "You've been doing a g-great job killing us off one by one!"

"It isn't quick enough anymore." Korse replied.

"So what, you've g-got a quota now?" Poison demanded, but the agent only scowled, looking about to hit him again. The door opened before he could, and Korse turned to see two Dracs dragging someone else in, glancing back and smirking as Poison stiffened and cried out, "Kobra!"

Kobra Kid widened his eyes and gasped. "Party! You're—" he cut off and grunted as the Dracs shoved him to the floor, one taking a step closer and pointing a small weapon at him.

Korse faced Poison again, amused by the fact they continued to call each other by their false titles. "Tell me at least one place, _Gerard_. Do it now."

"Leave him the fuck alone!" Kobra shouted, and then exclaimed as the Drac reached down and pressed the object to his side, electrocuting him.

"Stop!" Poison demanded frantically.

"Tell me," Korse said, and when the Killjoy hesitated, he nodded at the Drac, who shocked the blonde again. Kobra slumped against the tile, shaking, and then looked up at Poison. "Don't—" he murmured, dazed.

"Please, stop!" the red head pleaded, and Korse smirked. "Tell me, Way."

Poison only groaned softly, and the agent began to nod at the Drac again, stopping as he heard: "Please, wait! Don't—Zone 5!"

Korse turned to him. "What about it?"

"Don't you dare!" Kobra called from the floor, and then cried out as Drac shocked him once more.

"I can't—" Poison mumbled, and then lowered his head. "Th-there's a w-warehouse…"

"Where, exactly?" Korse asked, glad they were finally getting somewhere, and then scowled as Poison only shook his head weakly, disgusted at himself.

Korse grabbed his chin and forced him to look up, finding his face was streaked with tears. "Look at your brother, Gerard. Do you want this to continue?"

The Killjoy glanced at the blonde and then exhaled sharply as Kobra met his gaze, his teeth gritted in pain, and shook his head almost too slightly to see. Poison understood what he wanted, and might have continued to resist if it were just himself, but _Kobra…_

He couldn't watch them hurt him anymore—he just couldn't! Shakily taking a breath, Poison finally said, "On the border of Zone 4…n-next to the road…"

Kobra moved his gaze to the floor.

Korse chuckled. _Finally. _"Good boy," he said, and Party flinched. "This is progress." He searched the boy's eyes for any sign that he wasn't telling the truth, finding nothing. "But if you're lying to me…"

Kobra shrieked again as the Drac pressed the object a final time to him, just barely conscious, and Poison let out a soft cry. Korse released him, turned around, and gestured for the Drac to move back. He leaned down and grabbed Kobra by his jacket, hauling his limp form up. The Killjoy cried out and lifted his foot, unable to stand on it, and then finally focused on his brother, who was staring at him, horrified.

"If it comes to this next time," Korse threatened, "I will not tell whoever it is to stop." He shoved Kobra into the Drac's grip, eyeing him for a moment before striking him hard.

"That's for shooting me," he growled, and then turned, going over to the chair and surprisingly cutting Poison loose.

Korse yanked him up by his collar, unfazed by the fact his legs would not support him at once and keeping him on his feet. "You have until I get back," he said, pushing him towards the Drac who had been standing and watching the scene without moving. "Take them back to the cell. And make sure there are guards outside at _all _times."

The Dracs nodded robotically and turned, forcing the two out.

They staggered along until they reached another room, and Poison frowned as he caught sight of the small numbers beside it. Room 405…hadn't that been his math class senior year? It was a perfectly terrible time to think about such things, but it somewhat distracted him from the pain; that is, until they were both shoved carelessly into it.

"Party!" he heard the other Killjoys shout, relieved to see he was alive, and he raised himself into a sitting position with his brother's help as they came over to him, the door slamming behind them. He gazed at Kobra, who looked very disoriented and in pain. "Are y-you okay?"

Kobra did not reply, more worried for him as the three inspected his condition fully. He had bruises on numerous places of his face as well as a split lip, and he was shuddering violently from his wet clothes, unmistakably exhausted.

"What happened?" Ghoul demanded, and the red head only shook his head, making an inadequate effort to brush off their concerns. "I'm…I-I'm fine…" he managed.

Disregarding the clear lie along with the other two, Kobra pulled him into his arms, leaning back against the wall. Ghoul sat next to him and also embraced the shivering Killjoy, Jet beside him. Fortunately, the room _was _very hot, and despite the fact the three had been uncomfortable in it before, they were grateful now.

"I—I'm s-sorry," Poison whispered after a moment, and Kobra shook his head. "It's okay," he replied, attempting comfort. "Maybe no one will be there."

Poison held back a groan and hugged himself tightly, coughing several times. Ghoul kissed his cheek and rubbed his arm, attempting to warm him up quicker, murmuring, "I love you."

Party muttered incoherently in response, not moving. He desperately wanted to sleep, but he couldn't stop trembling, and he was unable to find relief after what'd he done, even within the oblivion he was both struggling to succumb to and resist at the same time.

Jet shook his head after a moment, angry. "I'll kill that mother_fucker_."

"Like we and every other Killjoy don't want to, too." Kobra snapped, and Jet rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but _we're _here."

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious!" Kobra growled, suddenly frustrated at everything and everyone from both his pain and his brother's.

"Kobra…" Ghoul began, but was ignored as Jet spoke again.

"I mean it would be easier for us to take him down! Don't you want to _try_ and find a way to escape?"

"Do you really think there _is _one?"

"Jet…" Ghoul started again, interrupted immediately, and then he scowled as the yelling caused the red head to cringe and moan softly, mumbling something that sounded like _stop_, but neither noticed.

"So what, you're just gonna wait here until Korse comes back?"

"Does it _honestly _look like Party can—"

"Ray! Mikey!" Ghoul shouted, and the two instantly went quiet, looking at him. "Shut _up!_"

Kobra glanced away. "Sorry."

"Yeah," Jet agreed softly, "me too. I just…I can't fucking _stand _not being able to do anything!"

Neither replied, feeling the same. They were helpless, though; without weapons or any means of escape (they'd already searched the entire cell, which hadn't taken long at all, and there was nothing but the door) they had nothing against the guards outside, Korse, or BLI itself.

Party suppressed what sounded almost like a whimper, resting his head on the blonde's shoulder. Mikey glanced at him and then sighed, holding him even tighter and thinking about what Jet had said had happened to Missile. "Maybe Dr. D and the others will come back."

"They think we're dead, Kid." Ray said once again, pushing his hair back, and Frank reached out, just barely running his finger along the red head's cheek, uneasy. Gerard blinked at him, winced, and then squeezed his eyes shut, turning his aching head so the ceiling lights weren't shining directly on his face.

Kobra sighed. "We rescued her, maybe she'll do the same for us."

"Maybe. Or maybe—" Jet stopped himself. "Or maybe they could get some back up and get us out."

Both knew he had neither spoken the truth nor what he'd been going to. But positive thoughts were the only comfort they had, and unfortunately for them, ones that weren't false were crossing their minds less and less.

* * *

><p>It was almost three hours later before the door opened again, and the Killjoys huddled in the corner groggily looked up as a Drac entered, the device previously used on Mikey in its grip. It did not hesitate as it walked over to them, beginning to grab for Gerard, who had finally ceased his shivering and been completely motionless since.<p>

Kobra scowled and struck out at it before it could, tightening his grip on Poison, and then it touched the device to the blonde's shoulder. He shouted in pain and accidently released his brother to grab his arm; that had hurt a _hell _of a lot more than it had in the room before.

"Hey!" Jet exclaimed, but never made it to his feet before the Drac electrocuted him as well, causing him to fall back with a groan.

The Drac grabbed the red head, using the weapon on Ghoul before he could even begin to stop him, rendering all three only half aware and unable to do anything as it slapped Gerard into consciousness and forced him to stand on his own, shoving him out the door.

The Killjoy staggered several feet and then nearly fell before the Drac gripped the back of his jacket to make him stay on his feet, leading him to the end of the hallway and through another door.

Someone else took him and smacked him again. "Wake up, Gerard."

Party blinked up to see Korse, who smirked and then turned him around to see three blurred figures in front of them.

"You!" one of them growled, and Poison blinked several more times, struggling to clear his vision, finally realizing he knew who they were, having run into them before at a meetup a few months before.

_"Poison!" _

_Party Poison turned around, nodding at the girl who waved, coming over to stand in front of him. "Wow, hi! I'm Star Dust," she said, and tucking her short blonde hair behind her ears like she was worried what he'd think of her. She was young, only about seventeen, and she very clearly was nervous, her cheeks turning redder every moment she looked at him until she apparently realized she was staring and averted her gaze. "Sorry, um—I—well, I—"_

_"Whoa, it's okay," Party murmured, and she looked away in embarrassment. "Sorry," she repeated, shaking her head and smiling._

_Poison smiled as well. The girl and her two siblings were the newest members to join the Killjoys, still learning, and this was their first meeting between everyone; he couldn't blame her for feeling a bit afraid. She gave a breath of relief as her brother and sister came up behind her, slightly older than her but no more than a year or two. She gestured and began to introduce them. "This is—"_

_"Silent Killer," the boy said, and the girl beside him smirked. "Rebel Rena. Sorry about her," she nodded at Dust, and then leaned towards the red head. "She has the _biggest _crush on you."_

_"Rena!" Dust exclaimed, her eyes wide, and she blushed furiously, turning away._

_"She thinks she has a chance with you," Killer chuckled, turning to Dust. "Don't you, little sis?" _

_"Shut up," she grumbled, not looking back._

_"What's wrong, Star?__" Rena laughed. "You were just telling me over there how adorable you think he is!" She eyed her sister, smiling as she taunted her. "He's too important for you, anyway."_

_Having had enough, Dust began walking away, bringing a hand up to her face like she might be crying, and Poison frowned, pushing__ past the both of them to catch up with the girl, gently taking her by her wrist so she would stop and then facing her siblings again, glaring at them__. "What the hell's your problem? Are you five?" he scolded, irritated, and neither responded. "Because if you are, you're way_ _too young to be handling guns." He gestured at the holsters around their waists that they had only just received.__ "Grow up and _stop_ tormenting her; I'm serious. Okay?"_

_Rena sighed, and Killer crossed his arms, but both were smart enough not to argue with one of the Killjoy's leaders._

_"Got it?" Poison asked a bit louder, tilting his head slightly and awaiting an answer._

_"Yeah," Killer said, and Rena agreed with a nod._

_"Good," Party said, looking them over. "We only have each other out here. I know the three of you are new, but really; I'd stop trying to make enemies if I were you. We've got enough of those." _

_He then turned to leave, pausing only briefly to whisper something into Dust's ear. Her expression went blank after a moment, and she looked up at him with an understanding nod as he pulled back, and he gave her wrist a last squeeze before he released her, joining up with another group of Killjoys, glancing back to see the girl take a deep breath and look up at the other two, who began speaking, which he hoped was them apologizing._

_"What was that about?"_

_Poison turned as Fun Ghoul came up beside him, eyeing the red head with a smirk._

_"What, are you jealous?" he teased, grabbing Ghoul's jacket and leaning towards him, pressing his lips to his. "Don't worry; __I told her I'm already taken."_

_"Oh, so she _likes _you!" Ghoul murmured, clearly amused. "Why do you have to be so damn irresistible, hmm?"_

_Poison didn't reply, arrogantly widening his smile and walking on past him, nudging him affectionately with his shoulder as he did so._

Poison blinked the memory away. The small group of three—they'd just barely been starting out as Killjoys then, and now, here they were, all tied, kneeling on the ground, in a situation that could very well be the end of them. "You _son of a bitch!_" Star Dust continued. "You're _working _for them?"

"No! I—"

Silent Killer interrupted him. "You're supposed to be our fucking leader!" he shrieked angrily. "How many others have you turned in, huh?"

Poison shook his head, dismayed, and Killer snorted, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Great! Just us! How _special _are we?"

"Traitor!" Rebel Rena yelled, and Gerard flinched.

Suddenly, something shot past Poison, and Rena slumped to the ground.

Poison opened his mouth to exclaim, but Korse clamped a hand over it before he could, blowing smoke from the tip of his gun as Dust cursed loudly at him, horrified, though Killer merely remained silent.

"It's not a stun gun this time," Korse whispered, smirking, and Gerard gave a muffled shout as the man pointed it at Killer, who raised his head, glaring at the agent. "Fuck you." he said, monotone, and Korse shot it.

Poison trembled violently, disgusted, and Dust exhaled sharply, looking away, her dark green eyes watering.

Korse released the Killjoy to instead shove the gun into his reluctant grip, dragging him over to the girl and forcing him to press the weapon to her head.

"Stop! No! Please!" Gerard exclaimed, trying to yank his hand away, but hadn't enough strength to do so. "_Please!_"

Korse ignored him, his own finger over the Killjoy's on the trigger.

Dust stiffened as his grip tightened, and yet kept quiet, staring unwaveringly at Poison, who gave a small sob as he met her gaze. He saw the fear she wouldn't allow herself to show in it, saw how desperately she wanted to live along with the knowledge that she couldn't, that it was all over. Was this what Korse had seen in him before in the lobby?

"Please…" the red head whispered, though now it was directed at her instead of Korse. "I'm so sorry—"

"I trusted you," Dust murmured, cutting him off, and she would've caused him less pain if she'd slapped him. Gerard fought to find words, but his voice wouldn't work. No, she had to know—she had to know he hadn't meant for any of this to happen, that he _wasn't_ a traitor before she—

The agent pressed his finger down.

"_No!_" Gerard screamed, both his yell and the shot echoing, falling to his knees as the agent let him go, and he stared at the lifeless Killjoys, utterly appalled with what Korse…what _he _had just…

Korse smirked, enjoying how terrified the boy was. "Three less," he murmured callously.

Gerard's strength returned to him in a rush of sudden, absolute fury. He jumped to his feet and whirled towards the man, striking him across the face as hard as he could manage. He gasped for breath as Korse staggered back, scowling just as deeply as him, and then couldn't hit him again. Instead, he turned around, bent over, and was sick.

Korse composed himself and waited until the boy straightened up, trembling just as badly as he had been before, though now it was from shock, not cold.

"Not bad at all, Gerard. Three is better than none at all." Korse placed a hand on his shoulder, as if he were somehow _proud _of him.

"Fuck—you—" Gerard gasped shakily, weakly swatting at his hand but not making an actual effort to get away, his will to fight gone.

"What's wrong, boy?" Korse continued as if he'd never been cursed at. "Upset you killed some of your friends?" He chuckled darkly. Despite not knowing how much, Korse was positive he had gotten to the Killjoy, and the agent was thrilled at both the thought and the evident fact the red head was aware of it. "You've been doing it longer than you realize," he added, his voice lower.

Gerard's stomach heaved again, and he winced. No, _no—_this was all wrong! Even though it'd been unwillingly, he'd just _shot _someone, ended her life without being able to do anything about it. And in fact, he was the reason all _three _of them were dead. And the others…every other helpless, brainwashed, unaware Killjoy or innocent civilian he'd killed…not wondering even once if that might be what Dracs were…

The accusations against himself raced through his mind, making him feel even sicker, and then everything blurred and darkened, and he dropped to his knees again, not having an ounce of strength or resolve left in him to get back up.

"Excellent, Way," Korse chuckled distantly.

The twenty-four-year-old blacked out.


	7. I Refuse To Answer

Chapter Seven

I Refuse To Answer

"This is it?"

The group glanced at Missile as she spoke, her tone utterly disappointed. And they couldn't blame her—standing in front of them, at the exact place and time they'd given on the radio almost three hours ago…

Were_ seven_ Killjoys.

"I'm sorry, were you expecting an army?" the girl closest to her asked sarcastically, and Missile frowned, ignoring the comment and turning back to Dr. D. "Is it even possible to _think _we'd beat them with eleven people?"

The Doc opened his mouth to speak and then instead heaved a sigh.

"You think _half _of the Killjoys in this dump have access to a radio?" the girl piped up again, and the ten-year-old faced her. "More like _hoping_…" she murmured, and the girl pushed her black hair out of her face, crossing her arms. "Well they don't. The only ones we've seen that have one, it's either broken beyond repair, or they can't get batteries." She sighed. "When the Dracs started upping their guards, they got rid of most of the machines we hacked for 'em."

DJ nodded. "Makes sense; I don't think they're too fond of us communicating with each other under their radar."

Missile crossed her arms, inspecting the seven closely. Aside from the girl who'd spoken and another, they were all boys. They were also only about seventeen or eighteen; if they went with only these, it would only be more lives lost too early.

"You'd have to go out and get them yourselves if you really wanted fighters." the girl continued, and it was silent for a moment.

"Why don't we?" Missile asked, and Dr. D stared at her. "Go find them on our own?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

The girl scoffed. "Yeah, all right. How long do you have, exactly?"

DJ glanced at Missile, who once again was looking down, and then said, "It wouldn't _that_ hard."

A boy from the group spoke up. "You know, for sure, where there're Killjoys?"

DJ did not reply, but Missile brightened up a bit, reaching into her jacket and taking out the map she'd grabbed from the campsite—the map that Poison had obviously been marking with places he knew other Killjoys were. She held it up and said, "We do now."

"Really." The girl gazed first at the paper and then her, thinking. "You've got a plan and everything?"

"I will."

The girl sighed, subtly rolled her eyes, and then stepped forward, smiling. "All right. Lethal Rejection; and I'm with you."

Missile glanced at the Doc, grinning subtly. "Missile Kid," she replied.

The other five introduced themselves, though the only ones who really looked like they even somewhat trusted her idea were Rejection and her brother, Dark Blade.

"All right, Kid," Rejection said with a sigh, crossing her arms. "Where to first?"

* * *

><p>Ray awoke to hear several soft sobs, and he sat up, frowning, running a hand over his eyes and looking over at Frank next to him, still sleeping, and then raising his gaze to the corner of the room, where Mikey had retreated to earlier, insisting to be left alone.<p>

At first he thought that the other Killjoy was asleep as well, possibly having a nightmare, but then he shifted and let out another quiet cry of obvious pain, and Ray immediately was concerned. "Mikey?" he began, getting to his feet.

The blonde stiffened, wiping his eyes as Ray drew closer, kneeling next to him, clearly surprised to see both that he'd been crying and that he was trembling, his arms wrapped around himself like he was cold despite it feeling close to a hundred degrees in the room. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing," Mikey lied, his voice hoarse, and Ray gave him an irritated look. "Seriously; tell me."

"I'm fine!"

Without giving him a chance to move away, Ray reached out quickly and pressed a hand to his forehead, his eyes widening instantly, and he recoiled in surprise. "You're on fire," he breathed, and Mikey shook his head, unknowingly moving one arm from around him to grab at his ankle.

Ray frowned. "Did you twist it or something?"

"No," Mikey murmured, but didn't release it, and before Ray could say anything else the blonde had looked away, his eyes watering again. "I don't know."

"Let me look at it," Ray said, beginning to gently try and remove his boot, but as he did so, Mikey yelped loudly, causing him to jerk back and Frank to jolt awake, startled. "Damn!" he exclaimed, sitting up and looking at the two. "What happened?"

Ray bit his lip, not replying and instead trying to figure out how to get the kid's boot off. Of course it would've been easier if they simply left it on, but if it was serious enough, they needed to know, and it couldn't be good for it being restricted in his shoe. He looked at Mikey, who was staring back, his eyes wide and tear-filled, both hands now clutching his foot.

"What happened?" Frank asked again, coming over to them and getting to his knees.

"He's sick." Ray said, frowning.

"No, I'm not." Mikey protested weakly, and Frank looked him over in instant disbelief.

"Aren't you supposed to take off the shoe if you've got a sprained ankle?" Ray asked, and Frank shrugged slightly. "How would I know? I mean, yeah, I _think_ so, but—"

"No!" Mikey interrupted, turning to lean sideways against the wall. He already could no longer stand the pain as it was, and he did everything in his power to keep it still; he wouldn't be able to deal with it if they started fucking with it. "Go away!"

Ray glanced at Frank out of the corner of his eyes, and Frank sighed, slowly moving a bit over and placing a finger lightly on Mikey's shoe. "Can we please try to take off your boot?"

Mikey shook his head again. "No! It fucking hurts! Leave it alone!"

"Because it's probably swollen!" Ray said. "If we get the shoe off, the pain might stop!"

"No!"

"God, Mikey, you sound like a fucking three-year-old. Grow up!" Frank rolled his eyes, though his words were more for distraction than insult.

Scowling, Mikey opened his mouth to retort, but instead shrieked in pain as Frank pulled as gently as he could on the boot, unable to stop himself from letting out several choked cries. "Let go! Please!"

Frank did not, but he briefly stopped, and Mikey slumped against Ray as he got behind him, shaking terribly. "Please—d-don't—don't again," he whispered, and Frank bit his lip sympathetically; he hated causing him pain, though he knew if he let go now, the blonde would never let him close enough to try again. "Please, Mikey, you gotta let me get it off!"

"It hurts!"

"I'm trying to help you!"

"It's not working!" Mikey scowled, realizing he was clutching Ray's hand, like it was going to somehow stop the pain, and he blushed but was unable to let go, it being the only comfort he had at the moment. He felt Frank tighten his grip on the boot again, and he clenched his teeth. _Don't…_

"It's almost off," Frank soothed, and Mikey tightened his grip on Ray, who moved his other arm so he was in a sort of hug with the blonde, attempting to console him as Frank once again began tenderly removing his boot, cringing as Mikey cried out again, squirming in his grip, and then Frank sat back, setting the shoe down beside him.

The agony was abruptly lessened as his foot came free, and Mikey sagged back, gasping for air, tears running down his cheeks, both from relief and the pain he still felt, just about at his limit for withstanding it entirely.

"Holy _shit,_" Frank muttered, widening his eyes and then looking up at Ray, unquestionably panicked, and Ray didn't have to look to know it was bad.

"Wha's it?" Mikey mumbled, his words slurred, and before Frank could prevent him from seeing it, he had. Mikey immediately felt sicker than he had before as he gawked at his ankle. It looked too bad to be simply twisted, and both he and his brother had had those before. It was very bruised and swollen, the skin such a dark shade of purple-blue that it looked like someone had drawn on it with a marker. "Oh…" he groaned weakly, dismayed, and Ray grabbed him as he shuddered and pitched to the side, pulling him back and wrapping an arm around his midsection again to support him. "Mikey," he murmured, getting no response, and he looked up at Frank. "Is it broken?"

Frank bit his lip, hesitating for a moment. "I don't know…but I don't think it'd look that bad if it wasn't."

"Shit," Ray closed his eyes, using his free hand to rub his eyes.

Frank sighed, folding Mikey's boot up as tightly as he could and then gently lifting his foot to rest on top of it. It wasn't much elevation at all, but it was certainly better than nothing. He then gave another soft exhalation and shakily leaned against the wall, flustered. Ray did the same, still holding the blonde, and then shook his head.

"God _damn _do we need to get out of here."

* * *

><p>Korse stepped back from the red-haired Killjoy, who was once again tied to the same chair, watching as he slowly blinked back into awareness, raising his head reluctantly to look at the man, who smirked. "Feeling better?"<p>

Gerard scowled, frustrated. "Oh, yeah, because I always love waking up to _your _face."

Korse rolled his eyes. "How long are you going to remain defiant?"

"Until you're dead."

"Or you are," Korse countered, and the boy only glared at him unwaveringly. He was very noticeably enervated, and yet he still showed no sign of giving in anytime soon, his eyes giving a silent reply.

_Or that._

The agent sighed. "I know you're tired."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"I mean," Korse frowned at the utter sarcasm, "you're weak. How long has it been since you slept?"

Gerard didn't respond; instead, he blinked very slowly, the mere mention of the thing he was forbidden to do alluring.

"Why don't you just comply?" Korse asked. "If you cooperate, I'll allow you to rest, and whatever else you may need." He paused for a moment. "Wouldn't you like to be treated properly again?"

Gerard briefly looked away, then back, silent. He was hungry, thirsty, and desperately needed to use the bathroom, and for a brief moment, making all that go away was extremely tempting. But he wouldn't trust the man to go through with the offer, and more importantly, he refused to put himself before the others, so he took a breath, shifted uncomfortably, and narrowed his eyes. "Never."

Korse shrugged. "You will eventually relinquish your fighting."

Gerard shook his head. "In your fucking dreams," he spat.

"You don't realize how close you are to doing so, boy." he said, calmly smiling again. "Don't you remember? You just killed someone."

Gerard flinched. "_You _killed someone, you son of a bitch!"

"It was your hand on the trigger, your finger that pulled it."

"You_ forced_ me to!"

The man smirked. "And I'll do it again, Gerard. Next time, I'll have you eliminate _all _of them."

"There _is _no 'next time'!"

"There will be," the man corrected, "or you won't like what happens." He paused thoughtfully. "And just think—if we stay on this time schedule, BLI will have rid all the Killjoys before the deadline is even reached."

Gerard scowled at the man. "What deadline?" he demanded. "For what?"

Korse chuckled. "That's confidential, I'm afraid. Especially to you. But it wouldn't be possible to achieve with all of you trying to ruin everything we do."

"'Cause what you do is horrible!" Gerard retorted. "You're taking advantage of innocent people and making them believe it's right."

"We do not _force—_"

"Yeah, you _completely _give them a choice about it!"

Korse struck him without a particular reason; his continual disobedience just irked him.

Blinking, the boy kept speaking. "Y-you've given them a fake reality that makes them think everything is just great when it's not!"

"And to think," Korse said, grabbing him roughly by his hair to shut him up. "You could have been part of that; could have lived a decent life instead of being an ignorant rebel."

"I'd rather—" he began to retort, but Korse jerked his head back, smirking at the cry of pain he gave, releasing him a moment later and taking a step back. "You could have escaped this entire situation by simply giving in to us years ago." He paused. "Your parents would still be alive if you had…"

That'd done it. "_Go to Hell!_" Gerard screamed, ignoring the man as he slapped him. "You fucking _asshole!_"

"Do not curse at me, boy. It was your own fault they died." He watched the Killjoy flinch violently, glaring up at him in intense hatred, and he continued. "You could have at least left their beliefs alone; but no, you forced your ignorance on them, got them to go along with it."

"They chose for themselves," Gerard growled, and Korse chuckled. "Then they chose at the wrong time."

Gerard averted his gaze, distressed.

Korse smirked. "You know you were terrified, Gerard; seeing your parents being dragged away to rot in prison, all because they just couldn't follow the law."

The Killjoy squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head.

"You're terrified now." Korse continued. "I don't care how hard you try to hide it." He snickered. "You, your brother, and your idiotic _boyfriend _would've had the exact same fate along with them if you hadn't run away like the true cowards you are."

"Stop…" the boy mumbled, and the agent clicked his tongue. "So you _do _remember! You know you could've given in; could've simply taken your medication like the rest of the city. We even gave you a chance, but you only resisted." He paused for a moment, thinking of how he had previously gotten through the defiant, arrogant act the boy continuously put on. "What if I were to get rid of them, too, hmm?"

"Fuck you!" Gerard yelled, once again glaring at him and yanking on his arm in an attempt he knew was futile to free himself.

"They are the only two things you have left. If they were gone, you would have no one else. Wouldn't it be ridiculous to let this Killjoy group you lead take away everything left in your life? And you would have no one to blame but yourself."

"Don't…" he murmured weakly, almost desperately.

"I will, Gerard. You've seen me nearly do it before. And you _just _saw how little I care about you worthless Killjoys. I'd kill them without blinking, without hesitation. And I _will _make you watch." He paused as the boy trembled. "If you were upset I forced you to kill your useless allies—"

"Please…"

"—then how would you feel if I made _your _hand pull the trigger that ended your own brother's life?"

"_No!_" the red head shrieked, his eyes wide.

"Little Frankie's life, then?"

"Don't you _fucking _call him that!"

"_You_ did. You did when you were in this exact position all those years ago, when I was attempting to give you a choice. And you still do, don't you _Gee?_"

"Shut the fuck up! _God _am I going to kill you!"

Korse scowled, striking him. "Don't threaten me again, Way. You've already worn out my patience. One more time and I'll kill them."

Gerard exhaled sharply but kept silent.

"Tell me what I want to know and I'll spare them." Korse waited for a moment, got no response, and then grabbed his chin, forcing him to make eye contact. "Do I _really_ need to make an example out of one of them?"

"No! I-I don't know anywhere else! Really!"

Korse released him, stepping back. "I don't believe you."

"I—_please_, I don't!"

The agent sighed in irritation. "So one of the three I have down the hall _does?_"

"They'd probably know less!" Gerard shook his head, uncaring if it was true or not, willing to do anything he could not to make them go through anything similar.

Korse crossed his arms. "You do realize I've had you as my prisoners for nearly two days, right?"

Gerard only looked at him, suddenly holding back tears.

"If _I _do not get rid of them, don't you think something else will first?"

It took a second, but the realization was painfully obvious. _Food and water…_

He watched as the man smirked and spoke up again. "Give me another location."

"I don't know!" he immediately replied, though vaguely knew he did; one last piece of information he refused to let go of. It was others or his brother, Frank, and Ray—how was he supposed to pick?

Korse glared at him. "I'm not a fool, boy. You're their leader. Or rather _were_," he added, trying to make him flinch again; it was amusing. "But nevertheless, you know more than the others. I will not stop until I'm positive you've told me everything."

"I _have…_"

Growing impatient, Korse hit him again, and then whirled around as the door was slammed opened, looking about to yell at whoever it was until he stepped back as the other man came in, walking over to stand in front of the half-conscious red head.

Gerard blinked up at him, frowning as he did not recognize who it was, and then exclaimed as the man suddenly grabbed him by his throat, staring at him menacingly.

"Where is my daughter?"

* * *

><p>Missile Kid twisted the map, trying to read the damn thing as wind from the open window continuously tried to jerk it out of her hands. But it was deathly hot in Dr. D's van, probably due to the fact there were now ten Killjoys, along with Dr. D, Cloudy Skye, and Show Pony crowded in the back of it, the other thirteen in two other vehicles of their own, following closely.<p>

And the little A.C. unit had chosen a very awful time to quit working. She would rather it take hours for her to finally find the next location, as long as she didn't have to deal with the heat; not that it was any cooler outside, but it did make a difference. And she was still in a surprisingly decent mood; they'd really made progress.

"Oh—okay," she finally murmured, smoothing the paper on her lap. She almost had to squint; it was getting dark outside faster than she could comprehend a whole day had nearly passed. She looked at DJ in the driver's seat beside her. "There's another place coming up at the edge of this Zone…"

"All right," DJ said, and then shook her head. "Really glad you had that map; this would've been a _hell _of a lot harder without it."

Missile smiled sadly. "Wasn't mine; it was Party's."

DJ looked at her. By now every single one of the others had figured out it had been the four; there'd been no use hiding it anymore. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head slightly. "We'll destroy BLI." she said determinedly after a moment.

DJ glanced at the others in the back. "Well, we certainly have more of a chance than we started off with. That's a good sign."

Missile nodded. "I just hope it's enough."

It took about ten minutes more for the vehicles to reach the warehouse, and by then the sky had turned slightly pink. It was actually kind of pretty, but Missile refused to focus even the slightest bit of her attention on that; they had so much else to do. Besides, as far as she was concerned at the moment, it was horridly ugly, just like the sun and the sand and the desert and the BLI building that loomed over Battery City. _Pretty _made no difference in what had happened; it didn't make anyone who had been killed come back. Seeing something as beautiful or ugly depended on the mood and current emotions of the person who saw it, and so, blaming the world for what had occured, Missile was seeing it as ugly, and she was damn sure the others felt the same.

"Hello?" DJ began, frowning and knocking on the front of the warehouse as she reached it, glancing around. "I don't think anyone's home."

"What a waste of time."

Missile turned as Lethal Rejection sighed, her eyes on a broken window on the side. "Look inside."

Hesitantly, Missile moved over to look where she had and then closed her eyes briefly. "Oops?"

The entire warehouse was filled with nothing but what must have been hundreds of boxes, all empty from the looks of it.

Rejection looked at her, and then gave something that might have actually been a slight laugh. "It's okay, Kid; you've been right about every other place so far."

Missile exhaled for a long moment and smiled, and they turned as Dr. D wheeled up to them. "We should make camp here for the night; it's as good a spot as any."

The three nodded and looked at all the other Killjoys as they got out of their vehicles, and then Missile frowned. "Wait."

Dr. D looked at her. "What is it?"

"Maybe we shouldn't stay _in _here. I mean, if someone comes by…" she trailed off. "Maybe we should just camp over there or something." She gestured behind them to where the sand descended, forming a hill-type formation, almost sounding panicked.

DJ frowned, stepping towards her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Missile shook her head and then sighed. "It's just…I don't want anything going wrong. Not after we've done all this."

With an understanding nod, Dr. D went off to tell the others, and Missile suddenly put a hand on the side of the warehouse, giving a shaky sigh.

"Hey," DJ began worriedly, taking her arm. "Are you okay?"

"Just tired," she murmured. She hadn't admitted it, but she had barely slept since the four had rescued her, both guilty and depressed that they had had to be killed for that to happen, and while she'd been able to ignore her growing exhaustion when it'd been daylight, it was getting harder now. She heard DJ say something about joining the others, and she allowed the older Killjoy to lead her to where they were all heading off to.

* * *

><p>Gerard hated the man more than he hated Korse; and he'd previously thought that was utterly impossible. Missile Kid's father had been in the room for less than ten minutes and already he'd caused the red head nearly the same amount of pain Korse had the entire first day he'd been here.<p>

"I don't know!" he insisted, only to be struck yet again. It was surprisingly it even hurt him anymore.

"You do!" the man growled. "You were the ones who took her in, were you not? You even managed to get her away after all of you were already captured. Who were the three in the van?"

Gerard did not reply, and the man scowled. "She's _my _daughter, boy. Tell me!"

"She doesn't want to come back! She's as much against BLI as any other Killjoy is!" He flinched as the words unwittingly left his lips, and then again as the man raised his hand. But instead of hitting him, he turned around to face Korse. "Really? Two days of interrogating him, and he's still refusing to cooperate?"

Korse did not respond, showing no emotions, and Missile's dad turned back to him. "How would you prefer I went to ask one of the other three, hmm?"

Gerard groaned softly. "I d-don't know where she is…"

"Who were the three who took her?" The man scowled when he didn't answer, hit him again, and shook his head, sick of waiting. "Do I need to give you something that will get rid of your defiance for good?"

"What, you mean drug me?" Gerard scoffed quietly and glared at Korse for a brief moment. "He's already made me kill someone; if you're trying to make me stop caring, you're a little late."

The man stared at him. "It wouldn't be to lessen your emotions," he growled, striking him once more and turning to leave, impatient.

"Is this how you treated her? No wonder she doesn't want anything to do with you." The Killjoy realized too late he shouldn't have said anything, and even though he'd only muttered it, the man still looked back, scowling. He then grabbed the chair and shoved it onto its side. "Stupid boy," he growled. "You need to learn when to shut your mouth." He whipped around and strode out of the room, and Korse stepped up to the overturned chair.

Gerard groaned exhaustedly; he had managed not to hit his head, but was still awfully dazed, and even as Korse uncharacteristically righted the chair a moment later, he couldn't snap out of it, and he murmured incoherently, wincing.

Korse glared at him for a moment before going out of the room, catching up without even meaning to with the man, who had stopped in the hallway. "Give him what you said News was adjusting," Missile's father ordered without glancing at him, "and do whatever else you need to. I don't care if you have to _kill _one of the others to get information. He _will _talk, and I _will _find her."

"It could take—"

"I'll go out looking for her myself, then." he said. "Up until Zone 4. It'll be dark soon, anyway." He turned to glare at Korse. "Call me on the radio if—_when _you get anything else."

Korse nodded, and then the man angrily slammed his fist against the wall, attracting the attention of two Dracs passing by that stopped and looked at him.

"You!" he shouted as he stormed past them. "Come with me."

Korse watched them go for a moment and then went back to the room, assuring the Killjoy was still awake.

"Frankie…" the boy mumbled, and Korse smirked, amused. "What?" he asked mockingly. "You want to see him?"

Gerard didn't answer—the agent wasn't even sure he'd heard him. But his smirk widened at the idea, and after a moment of thinking, he once again left the room.

_Fine. We'll arrange it._


	8. I'll Try To Keep You Safe Tonight

**A/N/WARNING: Don't read this chapter if sexual abuse and awkwardly-written Non-Con are a problem for you. The details are vague and whatnot, and nothing occurs except towards the middle and then at the end, but this warning is still obviously needed. **

Chapter Eight

I'll (Try To) Keep You Safe Tonight

_We're going to die._

Frank shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the awful thought, but it stuck with him. It had been repeating in a silent, torturous cycle for who knew how long, and the worst part of it happened to be that he believed it. He hadn't a reason to deny it; _none _of them did. It felt like it had been a year since they'd been captured, and it hardly mattered if it _had _been. However long ago it was, the three of them were both very hungry and thirsty by now, though they were being denied everything before they could even ask, leaving them terribly weak and drained of almost all energy. Even if they were _allowed _to get out, he wasn't sure they could have managed it.

He grimaced and looked over at Mikey, who was asleep on his back next to him. He'd barely been awake since they'd gotten his boot off, and even when he was, he was in a fever-induced stupor, not saying much more than a few words, if any at all, before he faded again. And they _still _weren't even actual complaints—the kid was acting like if he admitted to the fact he wasn't feeling well, the fucking world would explode.

He raised his gaze to Ray, who had moved further away to sit by himself, obviously furious yet not wanting to bother them.

"We're going to—get out." Frank widened his eyes briefly as he realized that, despite he'd spoken correctly, he'd had the urge to say what was on his mind.

"Yeah, yeah," Ray said hoarsely, and then coughed. "So I've heard."

"Really; they'll find a way to get us out."

"Who're _they_, huh? Dr. D? DJ? The people who think we're _dead?_" Ray turned to face him as he did not reply. "How long has it been? Two days? Three? Do you really think anyone's coming for us?" He shook his head. "They're _not_."

Frank almost flinched at the total despondency in his friend's tone, staring at him. Ray swallowed hard, winced, and then continued. "Look, I know you're stuck on that whole 'not giving up hope' attitude, and—and usually I'd agree, but…" he trailed off, gave a halfhearted shrug, and turned back around, leaning against the wall.

Frank released a long, uncertain breath and frowned. They always had a chance, right? The others could have already formed a plan, and could be trying to rescue them at the very moment.

He closed his eyes and shook his head as the very thin thread of whatever positive feelings he had left snapped.

_No. We're really on our own here, aren't we?_

That being the case, he very well knew they weren't going to make it.

The door suddenly opened, and the two aware Killjoys scowled as Korse entered, looking at them and smirking, seemingly amused at how weak they were, not even bothering to move. "No attempt to escape? I'm surprised. Or have you finally given up?"

Neither answered, and he chuckled, stepping closer to them, a Drac following him with the same shocking device they'd seen far too much of.

_Oh God, please don't. _Frank thought, glancing at Mikey as Korse neared them. "Leave him alone."

Korse looked over the unconscious blonde, taking on taunting tone of voice. "Oh, Way's poor little brother is sick?"

"Fuck off," Ray called from the side, facing them and yet still not getting up from where he sat. What was the point, anyway? He couldn't fight, he couldn't run, he couldn't do _shit_ except wait to see what the man would do.

Korse ignored him, his eyes on Frank. "Actually, he's not who I came for."

Frank scooted back as the man grabbed for him, catching his arm anyway and yanking him to his feet.

"Hey—" Ray scowled, now struggling to stand, but Korse gave the Drac a subtle gesture, and it walked over to him, holding out the device and touching his side with it despite him trying to shove it away. The twenty-four-year-old shrieked in pain, withstanding it only briefly before he finally dropped back down, his hands out in surrender, and it stepped back. He leaned over, gasping, and Frank bit his lip to keep from making any noise.

"Move," Korse ordered, pushing him towards the door, and Frank scowled as they got out, the Drac's grip tight around his arm, just above the elbow. "Let me go!" he shouted, trying to gather the small amount strength he had left.

"One wrong move and you'll regret it." Korse growled, moving to walk in front of them.

The Killjoy knew he was being foolish; he had no chance of getting away. But he continued to fight, angry and hating that, had he been in possession of his gun or any type of weapon at all, he could have killed him right then and there. "Fucking bastards!" he shouted, kicking out at the man's feet without a second thought. "What'd you do with Party?"

Korse tripped, stopped, and then whirled around, livid. Frank widened his eyes but could do nothing as the agent abruptly grabbed him from the Drac, twisting his arm behind him so painfully he actually saw stars. "Party Poison is no more, _Frankie_." he hissed into his ear, and the Killjoy groaned softly. "And Gerard's going to follow."

"Fuck you," Frank managed weakly, struggling not to allow his voice to crack, and Korse smirked. "It's more fun to make the lives of those I hate the most as miserable as I can." He chuckled, leaning even closer, his breath against Frank's neck making him cringe. "But to be honest, that suggestion might be helpful in further breaking your beloved little boyfriend. Don't you think?"

Frank flinched at the words. "Don't you fucking touch him," he scowled, and then lifted his foot, jerking it back with everything he had, smiling sardonically as he heard the agent grunt, bending over slightly.

Korse sucked in a breath and then viciously shoved the Killjoy face-first into the wall. It was so startling and unexpected that Frank never even exclaimed; he simply staggered back and then crumpled.

The agent caught him before he could hit the ground, glaring at him and the bit of blood now on his forehead, and then carelessly handed him to the Drac. "Bring him. Now." he ordered, continuing down to the last door on the right, opening it and gesturing for the Drac to stay outside, taking the unconscious Killjoy from its arms, the door shutting behind him.

Korse roughly pushed the boy into a sitting position against the corner, briefly wondering if he should tie his wrists with the rope in his pocket, pleased to see that the arm he had twisted was already bruising. Then he shrugged; the boy was weak and in no shape to put up a fight, especially not with the headache he would now have.

Using one of his fingers to stroke the boy's cheek, he smirked. "Or," he began thoughtfully, pausing as the boy groaned, his eyes fluttering open, dazed. "Or I always have you." The man cupped a hand under his chin and lifted his head. "I wouldn't have to do _anything _to Way. That would be enough."

Frank blinked at him, unresponsive for a few moments until he finally came to completely, jerking away from the man and pressing himself against the wall, disgusted as he understood what he meant. "Get the fuck away from me," he growled, and Korse chuckled, grabbing his injured arm, causing him to whimper.

"You're even more pathetic than you were five years ago," the man murmured with a sigh, letting go of the boy's arm to reach up and brush Frank's dark hair out of his eyes, enjoying the horrified cringe the actions brought on. "I had fun making you watch me hurt the only person you cared about."

Frank inhaled sharply, wincing, and Korse chuckled softly. "So you recall that as well! Good!" He paused briefly. "I can't wait to do it again."

"Please don't hurt him."

Korse eyed him closely, intrigued, almost wondering if he'd heard wrong. "Did you just _beg_ me for something, Killjoy?"

Frank did not respond, his gaze darting everywhere but the man for a moment before making eye contact again.

"I'm disappointed," Korse murmured, looking over Frank's entire body, watching him grow even more uncomfortable. "I was looking forward to _making _you plead."

"Go fucking die, Korse," Frank spat suddenly, and the agent smirked. "There's the defiance I remember. I was starting to wonder where it went."

Frank backed up further as the man inched towards him a bit more, but his shoulders were suddenly in the very corner; he was stuck, with nowhere else to go.

"I guess I'll just have to find a way to get rid of it for good, hmm?" Korse cooed, putting a hand on the Killjoy's thigh, and Frank was suddenly terribly sick to his stomach, glad there was nothing in it. "Get away," he whispered, eyes widened in fear, and then said it louder and more forcefully.

Still, the BLI agent ignored him, overjoyed he was frightening him and moving his hand a bit more down, leaning far too close to him.

Aghast, Frank risked being hurt again, lashing out and punching the man directly in his jaw. He jumped to his feet as the man fell back, surprised, and, disregarding his dizziness, began to bolt towards the door. He knew the Drac had to be outside, and he knew it was probably impossible to get away, but if he could just—

Something grabbed his shirt, yanking him to a stop, and he fell onto his back, gasping for air and stunned. He heard Korse fire curses at him as he bent over the boy, shoving him onto his stomach and grabbing his arms, wrenching them behind him, ignoring his cries of pain from doing so and managing to tie his wrists despite his struggles. He stood up finally and angrily kicked him in his side. The Killjoy hadn't the breath to scream and instead rolled over, his eyes watering, tucking his knees to his chest as much as he could.

Korse glared down at him, rubbing his aching jaw with a hand. _God _would he love to cause this Killjoy pain, maybe even as much as he was about to put on Way. But he didn't have another dose of what he was going to give the red head, at least not one that had been finished; it was merely an experiment to see if it worked, Gerard happening to be the perfect subject to do so with.

But there _was _something else he could do. The thought appalled him almost as much as it had Frank, and then he'd only been taunting him, his sole purpose to make him squirm. It had certainly been effective, though; he'd seen how pale the boy had gone at his words, how much he wanted to get away, his fear increasing every second he knew he couldn't.

He'd barely _touched _him. If he _actually _were to…

The agent glanced at Frank as he finally managed to cry out, and he smirked. He wanted him to make that sound again, one of unqualified pain.

And though he wasn't too thrilled at the idea itself, he knew exactly how to make that happen.

"We're not through, boy," Korse said, and then whipped around to leave.

_I just have to make sure Way's here to watch._

* * *

><p>Gerard heard the door slam open from somewhere under his fog of exhaustion, but quite honestly didn't care. He'd finally been able to sleep, as Korse had left him under no supervision, and he didn't want it to end so soon, gratefully accepting every second he could get.<p>

He preferred preventing himself from being slapped again, however; he already had a terrible, pounding headache from being unremittingly struck. And he knew he would only get hit again if he didn't open his eyes, and so he did, raising his head to look at the Asian woman that now stood in front of him, jerking back as the object in her hand came into focus.

"No!" he protested urgently. "No—get away from me!"

Newsagogo smirked. "What? Afraid of needles?"

He flinched and looked away without replying, though that was enough for her to realize he _was._ She held the syringe up for effect, making sure the lights shined through the tinged-red liquid inside, watching the boy's distressed reaction as he glanced at it, once again averting his gaze, and she smirked. "So the infamous Party Poison _does _have a weakness." She chuckled slightly. "A bit disappointing, actually; I thought a leader was supposed to fear nothing."

"Fuck you," he muttered, forcing himself to turn back to glare at her.

"It only means you were never fit to be as counted on as you are—_were_." She gave him the most sickening smile he'd ever seen in his life. "If you were to die, which I can promise you will be achieved one way or another, it wouldn't be a loss to anyone."

Gerard flinched again. _Great._ Now he had two tormentors. And the BLI spokeswoman wasn't fueled by smacking him around like Korse had been; she went straight into what the man had very slowly gotten to him with—taunts. Deriding him on how he was a terrible person, of how everyone would be better off without him—and doing a damn good job at it, too, despite saying only a few things. Was he really that weakened, that even the slightest thing upset him now?

"And your poor little Killjoy friends," News continued, "They must be so disoriented without anyone to look up to, hmm? Do you think they know you're going to be the death of them all?"

The red head absolutely refused to react to her words, embarrassed enough by the fact he couldn't bring himself to deny what she was telling him, but his eyes watered anyways, and she apparently saw this because she laughed, enjoying his unhappiness. "Don't cry, _Party._ There will be plenty of time for that later."

Gerard frowned; what was that supposed to mean?

"What are you waiting for?" Korse's voice was incredibly impatient as he stepped through the door, and News scowled at him. "You," she snapped, and then reached out to the Killjoy.

Gerard immediately tried to resist, but he was still secured to the chair, and she steadied his arm anyway, pressing the needle into his wrist and emptying its contents, smiling again as the Killjoy whimpered, both from pain and fear. After a few seconds of containing the boy's struggles she slid it out and stepped back. Korse got in front of him, unreservedly delighted at how panicked he was.

"What the fuck was that?" Gerard demanded, although already had a very good idea.

"We got tired of waiting." Korse murmured, but gave nothing more, watching him intently.

"I won't tell you anything. I don't care_ what_ you just—" He cut off with a gasp, cringing and turning his head like looking away from them would help the awful discomfort that suddenly overcame him. He bit his lip to remain silent and then cried out anyway; whatever she'd given him, he could honestly _feel _it as it slowly traveled through his veins, like he'd been injected with liquid fire.

The two that were standing smirked, amused, and Korse glanced at the woman before stepping forward to get right in front of the red head, grabbing his chin and facing him forward again. "Feel familiar, Way? I seem to recall using something much like this at our last meeting…"

"_You don't love him, Way! Repeat it, and I'll stop it."_

"_God—please—"_

"_Repeat it!"_

"_Okay! I-I-I don't love him!"_

Gerard groaned at both the memory, so long ago and yet as clear as day now, combined with the growing agony, trying to get out of the man's grip, but he wouldn't release him. "It's only going to continue, Way. Tell me _now._"

"P-please—" the Killjoy mumbled through gritted teeth, and then exclaimed again, and Korse placed a hand over his mouth to quiet him long enough he could speak. "Where's the girl?"

Gerard shook his head as the man stepped back, writhing in the seat as the pain worsened, every nerve in him now searing. "I—I don't know!"

Korse rolled his eyes, placing a hand into his pocket. "I can make this worse, boy."

Shaking now, Gerard glared at him, and Korse shrugged, reaching out and putting something to his shoulder, causing electricity to shoot through his body.

The red head screamed, in far more pain than he ever thought he would be put through, and then Korse pulled the weapon away, essentially smiling as the Killjoy slumped forward, gasping for air.

"I'm not going to ask again, Gerard. Tell me—where—she is!"

"W-with other Killjoys!"

"Don't be smart. I know that, but who are they?"

He got no response and so he shocked him again, leaving it on longer this time, and when he stepped back, he yelled, "_Who_, Killjoy?"

Hardly able to catch his breath, Gerard murmured, "I d-don't know! I didn't see!"

The agent was scowling now. No, he would make him give him _something_. "Do you know who it _might_ have been?"

Gerard bit his lip and shook his head, groaning, and Korse used the device once again, leaving him barely conscious, from both sources of the inconceivable suffering. "Answer me, Way!"

"Please—stop—" he whined, blinking hard and trying to think through the haze he was under.

Korse raised the weapon again, and at last the red head sputtered, "D-Dr. Death Defying!"

The man smiled wickedly, elated. "How very interesting. And she would be hiding with him?"

Gasping, horrified he'd given him anything, Gerard replied, "…I don't know…maybe…"

"Where?" the man growled.

"I don't…I don't know…" the Killjoy mumbled, desperate for the man to see he was telling the truth, but he apparently did not; instead, he scowled, turning to give the weapon to News. Then he reached back into his pocket and took out something to cut the boy's restraints.

"Get up," the man ordered, grabbing Gerard by his hair and jerking him out of the seat, not allowing him to double over as he tried and shoving him out the door.

"You're smarter than I've given you credit for." Korse said, clamping a hand down on the back of Gerard's neck to keep him walking as he staggered. "You've definitely learned to handle what you couldn't last time. It barely took a minute before."

Gerard moaned and then grunted as the man shoved him against the wall as he unlocked a door they'd come to, dragging him into the room when he got it open.

"Gee…"

"Oh God…" Gerard murmured, recognizing who it was before he even saw the dazed figure kneeling in the corner, his hands tied behind his back, a gash on his forehead. "Frank!"

"What's his name?" Korse whispered into his ear. Getting no reply, the man grabbed his gun and the Killjoy's hand, just as he had before, placing it in his grip. "What's his _name_, Killjoy?"

"Frank…"

"I'm sorry?" Korse dug his fingers into the boy's other wrist, the one News had jabbed the needle into, knowing it was the most sensitive spot on him right now, and he smirked as the red head screamed in pain, continuing his taunt. "_What?_"

"_Frankie!_" Gerard cried, and Korse chuckled, raising both his hand and the Killjoy's to aim the gun at Frank, who was watching them in complete horror.

"No!"

"What, you don't want this?" the man asked, glancing at Gerard, who vigorously shook his head. "Why not?"

"I love him…"

"I know." Korse pressed the trigger, and Frank jerked out of the way of the blast, yet still shouted, and Gerard feared it had hit him anyway, not taking another breath until he was sure it hadn't, gritting his teeth and shuddering, knowing next time the man wouldn't miss. "_Please!_"

"Tell me exactly where the girl is." the agent said, too calmly.

"With the others—Dr. D—I don't know where, please!"

"Do you have any idea where to look, then? Any hideouts they would go to?"

"I-I had…a map…" he said, only slightly aware of the mistake he'd just made. He'd kept the information from him the entire time, but now—he just hurt so much— "It has hideouts m-marked…"

Korse clutched the gun tighter, infuriated. He'd known that the_ entire_ time? "Where is it?"

The boy hesitated, and Korse scowled. "Tell me or he dies. You've got three seconds, Way."

"No, please!" Gerard lowered his head, simply unable to stand it anymore, and then gasped, "It's w-where we spent the night before you took her…"

The agent brusquely shoved him to the ground, where he curled into a ball, tightly hugging himself and trying unsuccessfully to stop the pain.

"You're pathetic, _Gerard Way._ This is really what it had to come to? You put yourself and your friends through everything, when you could have simply told me that to begin with?" Korse shook his head, thinking up anything he could to be as dejecting as possible. "You aren't a Killjoy. _Killjoys _don't betray their own. And you almost allowed me to kill the ones you care about merely because you were trying to be the hero. Are you proud of that? Is that an accomplishment on your part?"

He rolled his eyes as all he got in response was an agonized whimper. "You're not a hero, Way; not even close! Haven't you got that yet? You're useless, insignificant, incompetent—absolutely _nothing. _Just like your friends, your brother, your allies, and your _parents. _And you'll never be anything more. If you think people will respect you for the defiance you've shown, you're wrong."

The boy kept quiet, his teeth clenched, allowing the man to insult him. Frank struggled against the ropes preventing him from helping his love, but couldn't break them.

"I should kill you." Korse continued, pointing the weapon directly at him, absolutely exhilarated he'd finally gotten to him and truly not even hearing the panicked "_No!_" he received from Frank. "Right in front of your _boyfriend,_ too. BLI has no further use for you, and neither do your wretched allies. The world will be _so _much better off when you're dead."

Gerard shuddered again. "Do it—" he gasped.

The man frowned, wondering if he was mocking him. The boy had tears running down his cheeks, undoubtedly in the exact misery the agent had been trying to induce for days; more than that, even. His eyes were dull but serious as he looked back, even through the pain he was in, and the man realized the words had been honest. He glanced over at the other Killjoy, noticing how horrified he was, from both what had just happened and what had the _possibility _of happening.

"Not yet." Korse finally replied, reluctantly lowering his gun, and Gerard closed his eyes, not quite relieved, more so numb, overpowered by both the drug and the man—by BL/I entirely, really. He'd failed; not just his friends, along with every Killjoy he'd ever known—that had ever _trusted_ him—but himself.

"I'll have the pleasure of that later." Korse shoved him onto his back with a foot and then glared at him as he moaned piteously. "I'd love for you to watch your own brother die first."

"No—please, kill me—not him!"

He smirked at the alarmed expression Gerard had taken on. "I won't have to do anything."

"What…what're you…?" the Killjoy winced, in too much discomfort to continue, and he inhaled sharply, rolling onto his side again so he could bring his knees to his chest.

"Leave him alone, asshole!" Frank shouted, spitting several more vile curses after that, attempting to get his attention off Gerard so he wouldn't do anything else to him. He flinched as he accomplished this, looking away as Korse glanced at him. "Oh yes; we left off somewhere, didn't we?"

Korse smirked at how worried the black-haired Killjoy immediately became, and he grabbed Gerard by his hair, forcing him to sit up, though he doubled over instantly. "You know what, Way? I'd actually love for you to see something _else_ even more."

Gerard blinked at him, unable to form another question as to what he was talking about and instead watching through shimmering vision as the agent almost casually strolled over to where Frank was, seizing him by the back of his neck and forcing him to lie down on his chest, pushing his knee into the boy's back so he could neither roll back over nor attempt to get up.

"Stop…" Frank mumbled, seeming quite aware of what was about to take place, and yet Korse acted like he'd never said a word, simply grabbing the boy's jeans and effortlessly yanking them down to his ankles, and suddenly Gerard let out a shriek—not because of the pain he was in, but because he abruptly understood what the man meant to do—_directly_ in front of him. "_Don't!_"

Korse glanced at him but did not stop, the fear in the red head's eyes only spurring him on, making it easier for him to enjoy this. Although, with the euphoria he was still feeling from seeing Way completely powerless and writhing in agony at his feet...the Killjoy had already inadvertantly made what he was about to do possible. His eyes moved to Frank again as the Killjoy gave a terrified groan, squirming as the man started unbuckling his own pants. "Get the _fuck _away from me!" Frank screamed, shouting every curse he knew at the top of his lungs, fighting until he just couldn't anymore, too exhausted. "Please..."

"Glad to hear you're finally learning manners, Killjoy." Korse smirked, having succeeded in his task. He removed his knee, grabbed Frank roughly, and then, to both of the boys' horror, forced himself into him.

Frank yelped in agony—no, it was even worse than that; much worse. It was irrefutable _torture_, from what the man was doing to him, the absolute disgust of it, and, more than anything, from the fact he was powerless to stop it from happening—truly and utterly _helpless._

Gerard exclaimed, trying to ignore his own anguish and beginning to crawl over to his boyfriend, but he just couldn't, having to stop before he reached him to wrap his arms around himself again, the pain too great to move again. "_Frankie…_"

"Stop!" Frank groaned, sounding more afraid than he ever had in his entire life, and then began wriggling to get away from the man. Korse gripped him tightly around his waist and forced him to stay there and endure his malicious assault on him, smirking at both of their reactions to such, even more so as Frank let out a terrified, genuine sob, tears pouring down his cheeks, a little too aware that such only encouraged the agent. The Killjoy couldn't help it, though; no matter how many times he'd told himself he would do no such thing if this happened, after Korse had left him with the awful possibility before, the shock of him _really _putting him through this was too much. Every bit of defiance had temporarily left him, rendering him completely vulnerable.

"Get off him!"

Korse did not, but he glanced at the red head, ecstatic at the boy's expression.

"I'll do anything! Just stop!" Gerard pleaded, his gaze on Frank, who had squeezed his eyes shut, not even trying to stop the agent anymore, completely drained, trying to breathe and block out the pain, the entire situation, and the fact he could hear Korse gasping. The motherfucker was _enjoying _this, for more than just hurting them.

Korse smirked, pulling out once more of the Killjoy, who cried out, and then, instead of continuing, he grabbed Gerard by his shirt. "Anything?"

"Don't hurt 'em anymore…" Gerard moaned, still weakly trying to get the man to let go of him, but he didn't.

"Please, don't…" Frank tried, managing to turn his head enough to see them just as Korse struck Gerard hard enough to stop his struggles, pushing him down on his stomach as well, indifferently jerking down his pale blue jeans and muttering, "You're too loyal to him."

Gerard could do nothing but give a yelp as the man did the same to him, briefly looking at Frank, but his boyfriend's eyes were closed again, not able to watch this, trying to free his wrists to no avail.

"God, please!" the red head whimpered, squirming to get away and yet failing his attempts. Korse had been doing everything in his power to make sure he was in as much pain as possible, and he couldn't take it—he couldn't handle the torment anymore, _any _of it. He was sobbing openly, begging the man to get off. "_Please! Stop!_"

Frank blinked hard, horrified, and then raised his foot to kick out at the man, incapable of just lying there any longer. He tried again when it did nothing, but didn't even manage to hit him this time, shaking and simply too weakened. "_Gee…_"

Gerard screamed again, but his voice was hoarse and strained, and then he shuddered violently, shaking his head and going silent; there was no point of continuing to give the man the satisfaction of knowing he was hurting him.

He already very clearly was aware of that, anyway.

At last, the agent finished, recovered, and then stood up to fix his pants, leaving the two half-naked Killjoys on the ground where they were. "You know, Way," he sneered, confident at least one of them was listening—it really made no difference to him which one. "Neither of you are worth any time at all; I don't understand why you destroyed your own lives merely to be together."

Frank opened his mouth to retort and yet simply had no voice, shaking his head and lowering it to the tile again. Gerard gave no reaction at all, his breaths coming in desperate gasps.

Korse still reached down to stroke the red head's cheek, smiling as he flinched. "The drug isn't lasting—it'll fade. Unfortunately," he added, and then stood again, taking a last look at them.

Yes, they were both clearly terrified after what he'd done; it was relieving to see this, as it hadn't been pleasurable to him for anything other than the fact he knew he had been agonizing them both (that he would admit to himself, anyway). And that had been the goal of this, nothing else; he had broken their spirits as far as he could, possibly for the rest of their lives.

Which of course, would be extremely short; he was estimating a day or two more before he gladly eliminated them all for good.

He whirled around and opened the door, closing it behind him and locking it, despite knowing very well neither of them would be trying to escape; not now.

At least he had gotten the information he'd needed, along with destroying the defiance Way constantly had shown. He would _love _to see the boy try and act like that again; he highly doubted he could.

And that was exactly what he had hoped he could achieve; no matter what it had taken, he had succeeded. He was the one responsible for breaking the famous Party Poison, most likely his _boyfriend_, as well. They were no longer a threat. He had humiliated and degraded them both, and it was only a matter of time until he removed them from his list of problems completely. He'd gotten what he needed, and, despite the pure joy he got from continuously making them suffer, it was pointless keeping them around anymore.

And of course, now that he had the knowledge of the boy's map, along with where it was, he would be able to eliminate every Killjoy in the zones before they ever had a chance. He could get twenty Dracs to each location, easy; and the Killjoys wouldn't be prepared to fight. He would win; _BLI _would win.

_In fact, _Korse smiled as he walked, passing the room with the other two Killjoys and then making his way down the stairs like not a single thing out of the ordinary had happened.

_I believe we already have._


	9. I'm Not Okay

Chapter Nine 

I'm Not Okay

"Frankie…"

Frank blinked, looking at the Killjoy wrapped tightly in his arms, watching his eyes flutter open. "I'm here," he said quietly.

His boyfriend moaned softly and shifted; neither of them were able to sit right without pain. It wasn't surprising, though; it'd only been an hour or so since…since what had happened with the BLI agent, and they were still very much tormented by both the memory and the discomfort.

The effects of the drug Gerard had been injected with had faded within ten minutes of them being left alone, and after managing to untie Frank with his only remaining strength, he'd collapsed, leaving Frank to pull both his own jeans and the red head's back up, disgusted as he did so, the entire scene replaying over and over again in his mind, vividly, nauseatingly. He'd fought back the urge to be sick several times, finally losing and only dry heaving anyway, then moving to the corner furthest away from the door with Gerard and leaning against the wall, bringing him into his arms.

He'd managed to stop shaking, but was still completely terrified. He had a right to be, of course, but it was more so than he had ever been before, for both himself and Gerard. He could see in Gerard's eyes as he at last awoke that he felt the exact same way, and it wasn't all because of what had just happened.

There was something else there, too, though—something that Frank never would've expected to see, especially in him.

Defeat; absolute defeat.

"Gee?" Frank began after a long moment.

"Mm…" Gerard mumbled, squinting at him through blurred vision and then resting his head back against the wall.

"It's still gone?"

The red head managed a small nod. "…I'm tired…"

"Then sleep," Frank quietly replied, and Gerard moaned again, far too uncomfortable to do so. He flinched as Frank kissed his cheek, moving his head so their lips met, and when his boyfriend pulled back, he let out a little cry. "I'm sorry…"

"It's not your fault, Gerard. _None _of this is."

Gerard whimpered but said nothing else of it, instead moving his own arms to hold the black-haired Killjoy, trying to find just a bit of reassurance from doing so and relieved when he got it.

Then he gave an apprehensive sigh. "I-I'm scared." His voice was quiet and timid.

Frank tightened his grip on him. "Me too."

"Wh-what if he comes back?" Gerard almost sounded like a child now, and it was painful to hear him as such.

Frank looked at the red head solemnly. "I won't let him touch you."

"No…but if he…" Gerard shook his head. "He can't to you either; not again…" He sobbed suddenly, and then pressed his head to Frank's shoulder, his voice a bit higher pitched as he continued. "Please…I love you…I can't watch him do that again…I just _can't_…"

Frank did not reply at first. He felt something run down his cheek, but had no urge to reach up and wipe the tear away, refusing to let go of the red head.

"I love you too," he finally said shakily. "I'd do anything for you."

"_No_…" Gerard moaned, starting to tremble again. "Not that…please, not that…"

Frank shuddered and kissed his cheek, shifting again and wincing. To be completely honest with himself, he would give anything _not _to have to go through what he just had again. But he would give even more to prevent his love from the same, and if Korse _did _come back, with the same terrible intentions he had had previously…that's exactly what he would do. They had just been through too much, and whatever he could avert from happening to his boyfriend, he'd take the chance, no matter how awfully affected he was by it.

He heard Gerard let out another fearful sob, and he kissed the top of his head. "Ssh," he soothed, "it's okay."

"It's _not_…" Gerard sniffed, and Frank tilted his head slightly to look at him, noticing he was having difficulty keeping his eyes open. "Please just rest…" he murmured.

"But…but what if…"

"Please," Frank said again, worried for him, and Gerard glanced at him briefly before he took a deep breath, allowing his eyes to close. His grip slackened a bit almost immediately, his cheeks still glistening with tears, and Frank gently kissed him again.

_I'll kill that son of a bitch._ He scowled. He was absolutely horrified at what the man had done to them, but Gerard seemed even more frightened than him. Even with the pain he had been going through _along _with the bastard abusing him, he was too beaten already for that to have been the only terrible thing he'd gone through. He hoped and prayed nothing like what the both of them had just endured had been forced on him before, almost too afraid to_ think_ of asking. He'd clearly been treated awfully, bruised and battered, while the three of them had only been ignored until now as if they had already been dead.

_God, why couldn't Korse have just left him alone?_

Frank would have taken his place, had he been given the chance; not very happily, of course, but indefinitely. At least to allow him to rest a while; it was obvious he hadn't in days. Whatever the man had done to him, he was hurt, far beyond the injuries that could be seen. The hope Frank had felt had slowly been diminished until it no longer existed, but whatever hope that had been in Gerard had been jerked out of his reach by the agent, or whoever else that had made him suffer.

And he'd make them suffer back. That was a promise. For what BLI had done to his love, him, his friends, and everyone else he ever cared about…he'd destroy them.

_If I don't die first._

Frank acknowledged the thought but didn't even try to deny it, leaning back in an attempt to try and find a position that did not cause him pain but finding he was suddenly far too tired to care at the moment, falling asleep against Gerard in mere seconds.

* * *

><p><em>Why am I such an idiot?<em>

Missile Kid shook her head, annoyed with herself as she looked through the window of the warehouse. She knew _very _well she should've just stayed at camp with the others, but her curiosity about the place had gotten the best of her.

_Curiosity for what? There's nothing here! _she tried to tell herself. _I could be sleeping right now, or…I don't know—sleeping?_

But there was something urging her on, more than just a question of what was inside the place. She couldn't quite figure out what it was, but she almost felt like she _needed _to go into it.

And it had been strong enough that she'd gotten up and away from the others with the excuse she needed to use the bathroom, coming here instead.

She reached through the glass, wincing as a piece of it scraped her arm, and jerked on the handle, opening it and then squinting at her arm, relieved she found it wasn't bleeding. That would be just what she needed—getting an injury before they even _started _the fight.

Pushing the door out of her way, she stepped inside, reaching into her pocket to take out the small flashlight Dr. D had given her due to her fear of the dark, wondering how far she could push the time limit she was on. She obviously couldn't be gone for more than five minutes or so, maybe a little longer if she came back and said she wasn't feeling well.

But she hated lying, especially to the people who cared about her, even when she felt somehow it was necessary. And pretending she was sick would only cause them to worry for her.

_I could be sick_ from_ worry,_ she thought as she clicked the light on; that was definitely how she felt now. _I wouldn't even have to act._

She sighed and moved the flashlight around the warehouse, frowning as her eyes focused on the nearest box to her. She bent down, turning it onto its side and squinting at the label. "BLI…" she murmured aloud, her finger tracing over the black and white smiley face that showed up on all the shit they came out with, disgust edging at her.

"What would you guys need to store out here?" she asked the empty building, standing. Even more curiously, why the hell would they leave it out here, in the middle of a Zone, where Killjoys could very easily find whatever it was and get rid of it?

Suddenly, she heard a car door slam, and voices that were _definitely _not any of the others. She turned, peeked out the window, and then gasped.

Her father and two other Dracs were walking towards the warehouse.

_Oh, shit…_

Missile gasped silently, clicking the flashlight off as fast as she could and desperately looking around for somewhere to hide, quickly jumping behind one of the boxes near the door, crouching as low to the ground as she could just as the three barged into the warehouse. _Still think coming was a good idea, hmm? _she angrily snapped at herself.

"This is the last place we're searching today," her father began. "If we still haven't found her, those Killjoys are going to get it. I'll _beat _where she is out of every single one of 'em, if I have to."

Missile covered her mouth to prevent any sound from coming out. _What Killjoys? _Did he mean Party, Jet, Ghoul, and Kobra?

_No_, _they're dead! You saw them die!_

She frowned suddenly. She had seen them "die" before, too, when she'd first been captured by Korse. But they had been all right, and had even come to rescue her! Could it be the same now? She risked raising her head just a little bit, enough to see them over the edge of the box, relieved they weren't facing her.

Suddenly, a radio hissed with static. "There's a map," whoever it was said.

Her father grabbed the handheld device from his belt and clicked it. "I don't care! Did he tell you where she is?"

There was an angry sigh on the other end. "The _map _has hideouts on it—hideouts she could be at. I've sent someone to retrieve it."

_Oh my God…_Missile Kid sucked a silent breath through her nose, resisting all urges to move. The map—the map _she _had—that was the only one the man could have been talking about—and the only people who knew about that were the four. So, that meant at least _one _of them had to be alive to have been able to tell him, right?

She grimaced at the thought of how exactly they'd gotten the information, and then unknowingly tuned in the conversation again.

"Why're you there?" the voice on the radio was asking. "I already sent someone to bring me everyone there." He paused and chuckled softly. "Those rebels were amusing."

"What were they doing?" Missile's father almost sounded interested; even that little fraction surprised her. He'd never been one to listen to what others had to say, much less care about any of it.

"Attempting to reverse the effects of the medication we give out."

Her father snorted. "_Really?_" He was only mocking curiosity now, and Missile widened her eyes.

"We've obtained all but the boxes and destroyed it. No one will think anything of it again."

"And the Killjoys?"

Another snicker, as if the man had heard a joke. "Dead. Killed by their little leader himself."

Missile Kid stiffened and bent down again, her mind racing at the words. _Leader—Party!…Party? No, he wouldn't kill anyone. _

She closed her eyes, biting her lip hard.

_N__ot willingly._

God, if only she could get into the BLI building! Even if they were going to do so soon anyway, she knew they would never be able to get inside undetected. Yet that was exactly what they needed to do in order to have a chance at saving anyone!

Almost in the same instant, she'd settled on a plan. _That's insane, _she realized as she went over it in her head. No, calling this plan insane was an insult to every _other _insane plan they'd come up with. And although she could not be one hundred percent positive the man was talking about the four, or if any of them were even still _alive _if he was…

She peered up over the top of the box again, noticing all three were still not facing her, and she took a breath, risking them seeing her to rush out the open door. She ran, casting a glance back, but no one followed her, and she did not stop, even to catch her breath, until she had reached the camp of Killjoys, who were all staring at her worriedly almost instantly.

"What—are you okay?" Dr. D frowned as she almost collapsed, shaking her head and pushing away Skye as she tried to steady her. "No! My—he's—" She cut herself off, glancing behind her again and waiting until she could breathe normally before she began once more. "My dad is looking for me."

"Where?" DJ asked, and all the others looked at her curiously, several with their hands on their guns, expecting someone to have been chasing her.

Missile Kid shook her head, not having time to explain everything. "Listen…" She stood up straight and took a step forward. "I have an idea…and it's going to sound totally crazy, okay? But…I don't think we have much of a choice after…" She almost couldn't bring herself to tell them about her hopes of the others; far too many of their hopes had been crushed lately, and if this news would only do the same…

Dr. D's frown only deepened as she looked at him, but he was obviously willing to allow her to speak.

"What kind of idea?"

* * *

><p>The BLI agent and the two Dracs walked out of the warehouse, slowly climbing back into the van they had arrived in. "That's it. I'll kill them all." the man growled, slamming the door and starting up the engine, pulling ahead about an inch before he stopped it again, staring at the figure that had appeared over the edge of the hill to his left.<p>

_Grace._

The man jerked the car door open and softly ordered to the Dracs, "Get her. Now!"

They jumped out, and immediately the girl shot off; not in the same direction she had come, but towards where the van had previously been coming from, like she had a hope of getting away. "Grace!" he shouted, but she did not slow down until a moment later, when she tripped and fell to a stop in the dust. The Dracs caught up to her easily and grabbed her by her arms, hauling her to her feet and forcing her to walk back to the vehicle, halting in front of the agent, who smiled, though it wasn't of happiness to see his daughter again. It was more like of satisfaction he now had finally caught her. "Hello, Grace."

The girl did not reply, expressionless, running her tongue over her bleeding bottom lip, and her father nodded at the two, who pushed her into the back seat, getting in beside her to assure she did not try to escape.

"You've caused us quite a bit of trouble," the man continued, yet she still showed no emotion. "Where have you been, hmm, Grace?"

"It's Missile Kid."

Her father laughed and once again started the engine. "You're too much like one of those Killjoys." He glanced back at her in the mirror. "Don't worry; we'll fix that."

"I'd like to see you try," she retorted quietly, and he smiled, turning the car around. "Trust me; I will."

None of the three caught the very brief, very small smirk that crossed the girl's face as she turned to look out the window, and none of them noticed what exactly she was looking at.

It was the hill she'd run from, which every Killjoy they'd found, Dr. D, and the others were hiding behind, all very aware of the plan she could only pray worked.

She faced forward again, forcing herself to remain expressionless once more, staring at her father.

_I hope you do. Because that's pretty much what I'm counting on._

* * *

><p><em>God I hope they're okay.<em>

Ray shifted, biting his lip as a particularly painful hunger pang went through his empty stomach, making him nauseous and suddenly glad he couldn't be sick. He placed an arm around him, pinching his side to focus on something else until it faded.

He wished he could at least know what was happening with Gerard and Frank. He hated that, even though it'd only been an hour or two, they could have been dead. Korse could've done anything he wanted with them in that time, no matter what it was, and that, unfortunately, included killing them.

And Ray would never know until the man came back—_if _he came back at all. He had the option of just leaving them there to die. More than once, especially since Frank had been taken, he believed the cause of their deaths would be from dehydration. He could hardly speak, and doing so caused almost the equivalent of pain the electrocution device had in his throat. And Korse had shown no interest in giving them water, or food, both of which they needed desperately.

At least something to give Mikey to drink—it might have cooled him down a bit. Anything to help him feel better; he was completely soaked with sweat resulting from his illness and the heat of the room, though he continuously trembled when he was awake, despite having both his own and now Ray's jacket covering him. Ray had tried to take both off of him, hoping it would lower his temperature, but the blonde had been unable to stand how cold he'd gotten as a result, and Ray didn't want him to be in any more pain than he already was, uncertain if it would have helped him, anyway.

Ray winced and closed his eyes; sleeping was the only thing they could do now, though it brought no comfort, no less worry—only moments when they weren't aware of what was going on, only to be jerked back into a nightmare when they awoke.

_That is _not _how that's supposed to work._

"R-Ray?"

The twenty-four-year-old looked over at Mikey, who had raised his head enough to gaze at him, his eyes unfocused.

"Yeah?"

"I'm…" Mikey trailed off and frowned, seemingly to suddenly be wary of what he was going to say and not continuing.

"You're what?" Ray asked, and with a voice no louder than a murmur, the blonde replied, "Thirsty."

_Fucking A, he _must _be sick; he complained. _Ray scooted a bit closer, stroking his arm gently, swallowing painfully and forcing his voice to work. "I'm sorry. I'd get you water if I could, but I can't…I'm sorry."

Mikey moaned softly, lowering his head back to the tile. He'd known that, anyway, before he'd even said a word about it, and wasn't quite sure why he _had _mentioned it now. He was disoriented from the fever; that had to be the reason. "You…you gotta tell Gee…if I—"

"Hey, knock it off," Ray interrupted, frowning and placing a hand on his cheek. "Don't talk like that." He looked away as the words left his lips; the kid was still very hot, maybe even more so than before.

Mikey closed his eyes and shivered violently, and Ray reached out, taking his weakened form and gently bringing him towards him. "It's okay; we're gonna get out of here."

Managing a miserable chuckle, Mikey leaned against him. "How're you so sure…?"

Ray hesitated, wrapping both of his arms around the blonde to comfort him. "I just am."

"Wh'ever you say," Mikey murmured, and then cried out as he absentmindedly moved his foot.

"Ssh," Ray tried softly, and Mikey whimpered, every inch of him tensed in the agony he just didn't think he could stand anymore. "It _hurts…_" he whispered, not even bothering to attempt to stop the tears this time.

"I know, I'm sorry." Ray allowed the younger Killjoy to take his hand and squeeze it like he had before. "You're going to be fine, though, okay? I promise. Everything's gonna be okay…"

Mikey only vaguely heard his words, but he immediately knew they were only to maybe make him feel better. The pain was just insufferable, and he'd never felt so hopeless…or tired.

He knew he wasn't going to make it, and that meant he would never see his brother or Frank or anyone else again. And despite not knowing how long it would take for whatever illness he had to overpower him, he could now honestly say he was terrified.

"Ray," he mumbled, "t-tell Gerard I love him, okay?"

"_Stop_." Ray said. "You're not dying."

"Not yet," Mikey responded weakly, closing his eyes, and Ray frowned. "You aren't going to at all! Not now, and not for a long time; I promise." He tightened his hold on him. "I won't let you die, Mikey; I—I love you."

He regretted the words instantly, no matter how true they were, and he blushed, awaiting the boy's reaction, but he did nothing, and after a moment Ray realized his breathing had evened out.

_He's asleep._ It was relieving in a way, but in another he felt no different, almost as if he'd wanted Mikey to hear in case…

_Stop thinking like that. _He sighed and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes again.

_Dr. D, I don't know if you're even _halfway _thinking about rescuing us, but…if you're going to, _please _do it soon…_

* * *

><p>"Do you honestly know how much trouble you've caused us?"<p>

Missile Kid glared at her father as she would have any other BLI agent, her hatred obvious. "I'm _so _sorry!" she spat, and he shook his head.

She was sitting in a chair in the back what she assumed was the man's office, paying more attention to her surroundings than him. There was a window that entirely made up one of the walls, and she wasn't too far away that she couldn't see out of it. It overlooked Battery City, and she could make out glowing signs below advertizing things, even the small figures of people walking along, unaware of anything going on above them.

_Nice view. You've got a front row seat to watch yourselves destroy lives._

"You should be," the man replied, though he was very aware she was being sarcastic. "You and all your Killjoy friends."

"You've killed most of them!" she retorted, incensed. "I hate you! I'm not sorry for anything, and I never will be!"

He slapped her, and she jerked back, fully remembering how awful he'd been to both her and her brother. "I sure as hell know _Neo _isn't, either!"

Her father's face suddenly went solemn. "Neo?" he shook his head. "Grace, he's _dead._"

"…What? Since when?"

"When your pathetic friends kidnapped you from here."

"Kidnapped!" Missile spat. "_Rescued _is the word you're looking for. And you're lying! He wasn't there!"

She flinched suddenly, without the man having to speak another word. "No…or…he was, wasn't he? You—"

"I merely gave him the same treatment I give all the Killjoys we don't use for other things—tests and such—and he—"

"You turned him into a Drac!" Missile shrieked. "How could you _do_ that? He was your own _son!_"

"He was no better than the rest of them."

Missile gawked at her father, horrified. "Bastard!" she shouted. "Did _you _kill him?"

He struck her again, for both the curse and the accusation. "Of course not; don't be a fool!" he scowled. "One of your Killjoy friends did."

"Who?" she demanded, ignoring her stinging cheek, and he looked at her, remembering the name Korse had told him when they had first captured the four. "Party Poison."

Missile blinked. "…What…?"

The man stared at her for a moment, noticing she obviously had a connection with the one he'd mentioned. If he could get her angry enough at him, at them _all_, maybe she would stop fighting. "He killed him without even thinking." he lied. "Without caring. He _knew _it was your brother, did he not?"

"No…I mean, yes, but…" she muttered, clearly confused, and so he continued. "I don't know why you two ever thought it was a good idea to join those rebels. They do nothing but kill."

"Yeah,_ you_ guys." she murmured, monotone. "You deserve it."

"Did Neo deserve it?" he demanded, grabbing her by her wrist and pulling her to her feet when she did not respond. "_Did he?_"

"No!" she whispered, shaking her head. "But—but it's your fault! _You're _the one who brainwashed him. If he hadn't been a Drac, he wouldn't have died!"

Her father shook his head. "If that's what you'd like to believe. But how many others need to die before you realize you should never have left? Your mother would be so disappointed…"

She flinched. _Would_…? "She's not…"

"She is. You ran off with your brother a month before she died of an overdose."

"An overdose of the drugs _you told her to take?_" she screamed, yanking her hand free and stepping back.

He ignored the words and countered it. "She did it because you left."

The ten-year-old froze. "Wh—"

"She was so hurt by the fact you and your brother cared more about your crazy beliefs than you did us, she didn't want to keep on living. She didn't know when, or even _if _you two were coming back."

"No…" Missile shook her head, trembling slightly.

"Yes, Grace." her father said seriously. "Doesn't that make you think you could have made a better choice?"

"By…letting BLI control everyone without fighting…?" she asked, trying to keep up the act of defiance she always had, but her voice was much too quiet and shaky, and she couldn't think straight. "I…"

"You have no one but me left now that Neo is gone." he continued. "Do you hear me, Grace? The only person who you ever apparently _really_ cared about is _dead. _Why don't you just accept that and give in?"

Grace did not answer, but her father caught the look of defeat on her face before she looked away, blinking back tears, and he grabbed her gently, wrapping his arms around her, smiling as she neither protested nor moved away.

"Is he still alive?"

He pulled back after a moment as she spoke, her voice very low, and she raised her hand to rub her eyes, finally looking back, her expression now blank.

"Who?" he asked.

"Party Poison."

He eyed her closely and replied after a moment or two. "He is."

She showed nothing—not surprise, not relief, not anything that he would have expected. Had he really gotten to her? "Why?"

"I want to see him."

He frowned and released her fully, straightening up and taking a step back to stare at her. "Why?" he asked again, more sternly, and she glared at him, though her sudden anger was not directed at him, and it replied for her.

The man smirked.

* * *

><p>Grace's father entered the room Korse had placed the Killjoy who had killed his son and another in, amused to see both of them cuddled together in the corner, asleep. He purposely slammed the door back as loud as he could against the wall, and they both started, jerking awake with several whimpers and blinking at the man, their eyes wide, clearly frightened out of their wits.<p>

"…Missile?" Gerard mumbled as the ten-year-old stepped in behind the man, and her father jerked forward a step, his hand up threateningly. The Killjoy violently flinched, turning his head against Frank's shoulder, though the man had hardly moved.

"Don't call her that, boy." the man growled, and Grace took a step towards them.

"Are you okay?" Frank asked, concerned, but her expression remained unreadable, other than the obvious fact she was furious, and she did not reply, her eyes on Gerard, who looked back up to realize she was holding a ray gun extremely tightly in her hand.

A jolt of fear ran through him.

"You killed my brother?" she asked, her voice soft, and he stared at her, his mouth open and yet not making any sound for a moment or two. "Grace, it was an accident—"

"So you did?"

"I—I didn't know—"

"Don't listen to his excuses, Grace." the man said, leaning against the wall, almost smirking. "He knew before he shot him."

"I did not!" the red head protested, and Frank watched helplessly as he tried to convince the girl of the truth. "He—he had a mask on! I didn't even know Dracs were _human _until I took it off! _After _he was already dead!"

"He wasn't dead when you took the mask off," her father said, "was he?"

"I—n-not…I'd already shot him!"

"You're lying," the man accused, and then scowled as Frank shouted, "Shut up!"

"Do you really think I would've ever killed them if—if I'd known they were Killjoys?" Gerard demanded, and Grace briefly looked away.

"You would have, boy." the man continued. "All because they worked for us. That's your entire life goal, is it not?"

Gerard did not reply, his eyes on Grace, who was trembling now. She returned her attention to him and raised the gun, and Gerard cringed as the aim locked with his chest, releasing Frank and scooting a bit away from him without getting up, panicked. Was she really going to—?

"Please, Grace," he tried a last time, desperate. "I'm sorry! I never…" Trailing off uselessly, he gave a terrified whimper and shook his head. "I'm _sorry_…"

Grace's grip tightened, and Frank stiffened, his wide, frantic eyes going from Gerard to the girl and back again. He then reached out to the red head and grabbed him, pulling him back into his arms, able to feel every tremor going through him. If he were to be killed, Frank would die with him, protecting him as best he could. But after everything they'd done for her…she couldn't—she _wouldn't—_

"Me too," Grace replied finally, watching as the two of them squeezed their eyes shut.

She took a shaky breath—

And fired.


	10. What Have You Become

Chapter Ten

What Have You Become When They Take From You Almost Everything?

Both Gerard and Frank cried out as the gunshot reverberated throughout the room around them, and then opened their eyes as nothing hit them. Dumbfounded, Gerard glanced at his boyfriend and then up at Grace, only to see she was turned around, his gaze going to where the ray gun had really been directed at…and to where her father now lay, slumped against the wall near the door, holding his chest in agony. "Grace…" he whispered, and she closed her eyes tightly, the gun jerking in her hand as she pressed down once more.

She turned towards the two after a moment, shaking violently now and looking like she was going to be sick, even more so as she saw how scared her friends appeared. Gerard continued to stare at her, wide-eyed and dazed, and then finally whimpered softly, shaking his head and burying it against Frank's shoulder, desperately trying to regain his breath.

It was silent for a moment, and then Frank relaxed the grip he had around his love a bit, getting his knees under him and then pushing himself to his feet, helping the red head to do the same. "We have to get the others…"

Gerard blinked hard several times but gave no other acknowledgment that he had heard, and Frank sighed, looking at Grace, who seemed as disoriented as his boyfriend, clearly incapable of fighting anyone else.

Frank held his hand out. She unhesitatingly gave the ray gun to him, like she was happy just to get rid of it, and he took a deep breath, ready to help free the others—and suddenly remembered what had happened with Korse in the hallway. But had it been _this _hallway, right outside the door, or one three stories above them? He didn't know how long he'd been out before; it very easily could have been enough time for the man to drag him across the building.

Glancing at the ten-year-old once more, Frank asked, "Did they take you to the others?"

"No." was all he got in reply. Her eyes weren't even focused on him, nor the wall behind him, but somewhere far beyond that, stunned.

"Four…"

"What?" Frank frowned, looking at Gerard, who straightened up a bit and murmured, "Four oh five." He released a shaky breath and turned a bit towards him, now incredibly grateful for the untimely memory of his school when he and his brother were being led back before. "That's the room they're in."

Frank kissed his cheek in relief, and Gerard gave him a very worn out smile, coming out just barely as a grimace. He did appear to have regained his senses, though, and he reluctantly shrugged Frank's arms away, watching the black-haired Killjoy as he walked over to the door.

Gerard stumbled a bit but steadied himself, following Frank, along with whom he had thought only moments ago was going to kill him.

Frank clutched the gun tightly and raised it, gathering the strength he would need to take out whatever guard was outside, and then hesitated as he heard Grace murmur, "There's no one. We came alone."

Frank glanced back briefly at her before carefully opening the door, warily looking out into the empty hallway. It wouldn't stay like that for long, he knew; especially not if there were cameras.

"Thank you, Grace." he softly said, not sure what else he _could _say, still very much startled at what he had thought she would do.

The ten-year-old looked up at him finally, glanced at her father, and then cleared her throat. "It's Missile Kid." she replied without emotion, and Frank nodded.

"All right, Missile; let's go."

* * *

><p>Mikey slowly came to at the sound of his name being called, the voice very familiar, one he vaguely knew he should have been overjoyed to hear. But he was so tired and everything ached, especially as he blinked his eyes open, merely wanting to shut them again but pulled into a hug before he could, finally comprehending who exactly the red-haired figure was. "Gee…?"<p>

"It's okay, I'm here," Gerard soothed. He looked even worse than before, and yet there was a little smile on his face, faltering as the blonde sagged against him in the same moment with a moan that hurt his already irritated throat. _I'm dreaming…he can't be here…_

Gerard put a hand on his head, and then gasped. "Fucking shit, you're burning up!" He looked up at the others for a moment and then glanced down at his brother's injured foot, feeling his heart skip a beat, and he wrapped an arm around Mikey's waist. "We're gonna get out of here, okay?"

Mikey did not react at all, and Gerard frowned, managing to lift him up, and then cringed as the blonde groaned again in protest of the movement.

The five of them flinched as an alarm suddenly began blaring, making it almost impossible for them to hear each other.

"Did you just do that?" Ray shouted, looking at the three who'd shot down the door, and Missile gave what slightly resembled a smile and called, "No. That was me."

They looked at her, confused.

"I brought some backup!"

* * *

><p>Cloudy Skye glanced up as the security alarms to the building began loudly going off in a constant, deafening rhythm. "Damn," she muttered. She—all of them, really—had obviously expected them, but still, it was so quick…they were hardly to the bridge.<p>

"No stoppin' now!" Rejection laughed, though her smile was more of something there solely to mask her fear.

"Great," another behind her sighed, then raised her weapon determinedly. "Let's kick these bastards' asses."

DJ smirked. "I like the attitude!"

Rejection shook her head with only the slightest bit of amusement, and the twenty-four Killjoys (Show Pony had stayed behind with Dr. D) readied themselves as they reached the entrance, shooting the guards before they could fire more than a single shot at them.

"I feel like it shouldn't be this easy!" Rock Note called, grabbing the handle to the door and yanking it open to allow the rest in.

"Shut it—we haven't even started." Rejection replied. "And neither have they."

"Shit—" Skye cursed as a shot narrowly missed her shoulder, and the group stopped dead as a large number of Dracs came into the lobby, guns up and firing.

Rejection glared at Note and then turned to DJ as she shouted, "Re! Take some others; go looking for Missile!"

Rejection nodded, and her, her brother, and six more fought their way towards the hallway.

"I really hope—" Rejection cut off, blasting a Drac out of the way. "—Missile is okay! If we're looking for nothing—" She shook her head without continuing this time, ducking a blow and killing who it had been given by.

"She'll be fine!" Rainbow Reaction shouted, silently adding, _I hope._

* * *

><p>Missile Kid would not allow herself to cry.<p>

Not now; not when she was trying to help the others escape, or while she was the only fully aware person between the five, assuring they went the exact way she'd been led up.

And _especially _not when they were so close to taking down the damn place. She had to try and push back the horror of what she had just done.

_You _killed _your father! The bastard deserved it. But he was still your dad, the only family you had left! It was for the best…right?_

The voices tormented her, causing an internal battle like the one going on below the floor they were on. She'd never been planning on killing her friend; not once had the thought even crossed her mind. It had always been of whoever was guarding them at the time—and deep down she believed she had always known it would have been her father. It was over now, though—she had to focus on getting out alive with the others.

After destroying BLI's headquarters, of course.

"Wh—" Gerard grunted as Mikey let out a soft cry of pain and abruptly stopped, nearly causing both of them to collapse and bringing the five to a brief halt. Ray grabbed the blonde from Gerard, noticing he had paled even more from the effort of trying to help his injured brother, not having the strength to. "I got 'em," Ray said reassuringly, wishing he had thought to help sooner, and Gerard blinked at him without replying, stumbling as he tried to continue.

Frank was by his side in an instant, wrapping an arm around his waist, the other holding a gun. He, Ray, and Missile all had one now, the two having aquired them from the now-dead Dracs that had been around guarding. "Don't worry," he murmured soothingly, "we're almost—"

Something abruptly exploded behind them, and Ray shrieked, releasing both the blonde and his weapon, immediately dropping to the floor, holding his upper leg in agony.

Mikey staggered at once, and Gerard grabbed for him as Frank whirled around, shooting at the Drac that had snuck up behind them until it dropped to the ground.

"Oh God—" Gerard breathed, struggling to support his younger brother while Frank kneeled beside Ray, who was clutching desperately at the wound, the clothing around it already stained red. "God _damn _it!"

"Here," Missile said, quickly slipping off her jacket and handing it to Frank, who gratefully took it and tied it as tight as he could around the injury, despite the Killjoy's groan of pain as he did so. "You gonna make it?" he asked, and Ray cracked an eye open at him, giving a very strained laugh. "Sure—" he gasped.

"Missile! You up here?"

The eight Killjoys that had been searching for them appeared at the end of the hallway, their eyes widening as they saw the shaken ten-year-old—along with the four who they'd previously been convinced were dead.

And with how terribly pale and weak they looked, that couldn't possibly have been far off.

"Whoa," Rejection gasped, and they rushed over to them, two attempting to help Gerard after the others had taken Mikey, but he shook his head, said, "I'm fine," and nodded them towards the others.

"You don't look it," one of them said, reaching out, but the instant his hand came in contact with the red head's arm, he gasped and jumped back. "I'm fine!" he insisted, suddenly sounding pissed off, scowling as they quickly moved past him to the others.

Frank eyed him as he then winced and closed his eyes, his breathing quickened, and he carefully went over to him, murmuring, "Gee," before he put an arm around him so he wouldn't startle him. Even then, Gerard tensed and moved away from him, and Frank averted his gaze, feeling sick to his stomach and fighting against it. He knew exactly what his love was thinking, and his mind couldn't help but go to it as well.

_No. You've gotta be ready to help the others,_ he told himself, swallowing hard and turning around again.

"Come on, we've gotta go," Rejection said, and they began slowly making their way towards the stairway they'd come up.

"How's it goin' downstairs?" Missile asked, trying hard to make her voice come out without shaking.

"Not sure," Blade huffed, an arm around Ray, his sister on the other side. "We left to find you."

"We're so glad you're alive! All of you!" Rainbow exclaimed, shaking her head. "Like, you've no idea!"

"Us too, kid," Frank replied with a wince, gripping his injured arm, having given his gun to Gerard as he'd started hurting too much to use it, anyway.

As they reached the bottom floor several very difficult minutes later, they could hear the shots and yelling and fighting outside the door.

"God damn—" Rejection murmured breathlessly as she and Blade gently lowered Ray to the stairs, eyeing the others as they did the same with Mikey and then turning to the three still able to stand. "Stay here. You're already hurt, and you…" she trailed off to look at Missile with a small smile, silent for a very brief moment. "You're too young to die."

"Who says I'd die?" Missile frowned. "I can fight."

Rejection looked at her a moment longer but did not reply, her mind made up, and then glanced at the others. "You ready?"

The seven nodded, and Rejection took a breath before turning to the door, kicking out at it. It swung open, and they jumped out, joining the ongoing battle.

Gerard reached out and jerked it closed again, and the three of them stood by it in case they'd been seen, the two having guns readying them.

"I could've fought…" Missile muttered, and Gerard leaned feverishly against the wall, once again very pale. "You've already done enough." he breathed.

She did not reply, and he grimaced, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"I didn't care." she shrugged, but he knew she was lying.

"And…about Neo. I…"

"Really, Party," she said quietly. "It was an accident." She looked at him and frowned, wondering if he had fallen asleep on his feet when he didn't reply or acknowledge he had heard her. Frank frowned, stepping towards him, but then he blinked several times, moving his attention past them to the two unconscious Killjoys on the stairs. His eyes narrowed as he saw there was already blood seeping through the thin fabric of Missile's jacket. No, the others had either miscalculated how fast of a victory this would be, or else hadn't taken a good look at them.

If they waited until it was "safe", Ray would die. And he feared Mikey wasn't too far from that, either; his chest hardly rose with his labored breathing.

_God, they don't deserve any of this; if anyone does, it's me. _

He turned to Frank, his expression desperate. "We have to go."

"Are you fucking out of your mind?" Frank demanded.

"They'll die if we stay, Frankie," he said, and then eyed the gun in his hand for the briefest second, leaning towards the door again.

Frank saw his sudden anticipation. "What're you thinking?" he began, and Gerard didn't reply, glancing at the stairs. There had to be another way into the lobby, right? A way none of the Dracs would…

Gerard abruptly turned to Missile Kid, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Listen," he said, and she frowned, instantly detecting the utter seriousness in his voice. "I need you to stay here with Ray and Mikey, okay? Please, to protect them?"

"Wh—why? Where are you going? I want to help!"

"You've helped already," he said, and she suddenly looked devastated. "But—" she began, "aren't Killjoys supposed to fight? Supposed to—well, you know—do stuff?"

"You _are _doing something!" he assured her. "More than you know." His smile faltered. "You just have to trust me, okay?"

She glanced down at her gun and then sighed, tightening her grip on it and gazing back up at him, determined. "Okay."

Gerard nodded, hesitated, and then hugged her for a long moment. "I promise you it'll be all right." he said, and then released her, looking at Frank and gesturing towards the stairs. "Come on."

Missile watched the two go and then exhaled for a long moment, turning back to the door in absolute silence.

"Okay." she repeated to no one.

* * *

><p>"What the hell is your plan, exactly?" Frank asked, breathing hard as they reached the top of the stairs, concerned as the red head grabbed the banister as if he were going to faint, his eyes closed, but he recovered, moving towards the door that lead to the hallway they'd been in before. "Surprise," he murmured, beginning to walk down it, holding the gun out in case there was anyone on the floor. "That's my plan."<p>

Frank followed nothing but his footsteps. "I don't—"

"K—" Gerard immediately stopped as if he'd choked, swallowing hard before continuing. "Korse and the guys who attacked as before…when we were rescuing Missile, I mean. They caught us by surprise. So why not do the same thing?"

"With _two _of us? I don't even have a gun!"

Gerard did not reply, and after a few moments he stopped, directly in front of the unmoving Drac Frank had shot before. Without pausing, he stepped around it and grabbed its gun, holding it up for him. "Do now," he said.

Frank shook his head and grabbed it, a slight grin tugging at his lips. Then it faded and he let out an exhausted sigh, putting a hand on the wall.

"Are you all right?"

"No." Frank admitted. He was dizzy, and his head hurt terribly; it had been ever since the agent had shoved him into the wall, only getting worse as he went on, honestly to the point by now that he wanted to cry from the pain. He wouldn't, though, of course; and he wouldn't complain, either. They had more important things to worry about. "But I can keep going. Are you?"

Gerard winced and nodded, no matter how much of a lie it obviously was.

"You're set on the idea we'll win this, aren't you?"

Gerard glanced at him seriously, hesitated, and then gently grabbed him and pulled him into a kiss that lasted only a few seconds, feeling like an entire lifetime in the same moment. When he broke away, he was even more solemn, determined to assure it was not the last they ever shared. "We _are_ going to win, okay?"

Frank hesitated, then nodded. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Gerard said, starting off again before he lost the will to do so. He knew what danger he was putting both himself and Frank in, and that, even if the two of them lived long enough for his plan to be put into action, the others might not.

But he was going to do everything in his power to make certain all of them got out alive, no matter what that was, and even if it meant he himself didn't.

* * *

><p>"Hey! Watch out!" Rejection shouted, eyes wide, shoving her brother away from a Drac behind him and shooting it.<p>

Blade looked at her, breathing hard. "Thanks!" he gasped, turning around and firing several times. "Jesus, when the fuck are they gonna stop?"

They'd been fighting, dodging, ducking, and shooting for what must have been half an hour, though it felt _much _longer. The Dracs had only kept coming—she was pretty sure every single one in the entire building had been ordered to kill them—but now the number remained the same. No new enemies were appearing, but then again, the old ones weren't dropping. "I think they have. And if we keep it up," she added, just barely missing a blast to her shoulder, "we'll get rid of them all!"

"Shit!" Blade shouted, jumping back and then shooting whoever had aimed at him, glancing over to the side to see yet another Killjoy was down, feeling a jolt of fear nearly causing him to stop for a moment. How many of them were left? Sixteen? "If we don't, _they _will us!" he managed, and then ran off to help someone else.

_I know,_ Rejection thought with a wince, briefly clutching her side. She shook her head and then focused again on the fight, desperately looking around for anything to help them. But they were in an enemy building—_nothing _there would be to their advantage.

She blasted her gun again, and then gasped in surprise as the Drac nearest to her suddenly dropped without her having done anything. It wouldn't have been so startling had everyone else not been caught up in their own fight, and though she glanced around, she couldn't see where it had come from, confused but having no choice but to turn her attention to the others, grateful.

"Nice shot," Gerard whispered with the only bit of humor he could find, and Frank gave a small, quiet laugh, glancing up at him. The red head had managed to balance himself on one foot, leaned over him to assure both of them could see and aim, an arm gently resting on his back, despite the fact both of them covertly—and yet obviously at the same time—found the position unnerving. "Thanks."

They were currently hiding in the hallway the elevator had led them to—that is, when it had been working. Gerard had made it virtually impossible to ever use again, firing at every button inside it once they'd reached the first floor, along with the downstairs caller button to assure no other Dracs, or anyone else, could get down and continue outnumbering the Killjoys. There had to be other ways down, but their goal right now was to make sure they got back down to an even amount of fighters, preferably less, before anyone else _did _arrive.

Gerard aimed at another Drac, the tip of his gun just barely emerging from behind the wall, and shot, dropping it to the ground before it could kill the girl before it. _Take that, fucker. _

"You too," Frank chuckled slightly, struggling to ignore his growing dizziness and making great effort not to allow his fear or discomfort to show, looking out at the others and wincing as a sharp pain shot up his arm, almost powerful enough to cause him to drop the weapon.

Gerard must have felt him tense under him. "You okay?" he murmured, eyeing the large bruise running along his arm.

Frank bit his lip, blasting again and holding back a grunt, blinking to clear his vision. "Y-yeah, I'm fine."

_For now. _

* * *

><p>Missile Kid sighed, listening to the sounds of the battle outside, angry at the fact she was two feet away from it and yet unable to help.<p>

It wasn't that she didn't feel scared—no, she was _petrified,_ both for herself and everyone else—but because the others were out there helping, and she was stuck here. She knew she needed to make sure no one further tried to hurt the two behind her, but she still felt awful about just standing around, doing nothing.

A sudden cough made her jump and turn around, watching the blonde Killjoy stir, trying to lift his head and failing. "Gerard…?"

Missile frowned at the unfamiliar name and stepped towards him. "It's Missile Kid; you just gotta hold on, okay?"

"Mm," Mikey mumbled, and then coughed several times more, groaning when at last he could get a breath.

Missile glanced at his foot and winced, facing the door again. She heard another shout from outside, and she flinched. God, why couldn't she just shut the freakin' things off?

She stiffened as a door above them suddenly jerked open, and there were frantic footsteps on the stairs. A woman turned the corner and began down the stairs, stopping dead as she first noticed the Killjoys, and then glanced at Missile, scowling.

The ten-year-old aimed and shot without even thinking, and Newsagogo staggered, though still began quickly struggling back up the stairs.

"Hey!" Missile shouted. She took a step towards the stairs and then immediately stopped, looking at the two. _I can't just leave them here! _But if she didn't, there could be a chance she could help that she would only be ignoring. News had to know something, and despite the fact she couldn't be sure she would _tell _how to stop them…

No. She _refused _to stand around and do nothing like she had every other time in her life. When Neo had been taken, when Party had been hurt at Dr. D's, _and _shot by the agent—everything causing her guilt compelled her to do it.

Maybe she couldn't have done anything then, but she had a chance now.

She took something out of her pocket, bent over Mikey, and placed it in his palm, closing his fingers around it and then turning his hand over onto his chest so that he wouldn't drop it.

"I'm sorry," she murmured before she stepped past them, running as fast as she could up the stairs as she heard a door slam, wincing as she saw a bit of blood on the floor when she reached it. She yanked it open and edged out into the hallway, gun ready.

The trail ended, like she'd barely been injured at all, and then she glanced at the nearest door, thinking that would be the simplest place to hide for someone who was wounded. She shot the lock off, shoving it open and aiming at—nothing. The woman wasn't there.

Frowning in confusion, Missile lowered her gun, intrigued as she looked around at the technology—computers, screens, blinking buttons—it was even more advanced than what she had seen in the room she'd been held in before, something she wouldn't have believed was possible.

She blinked, her eyes widening, and finally she realized what it was for.

The room was what they used to brainwash the Dracs into working for them.

Anger overtook her as she thought of her brother, of every other Killjoy that had been forced to succumb to BLI, and she aimed her weapon at the machinery. What would happen if she destroyed it? Would it do anything to the ones who'd already been altered?

She scowled. Even if it didn't, she would assure no one else would be put through the same thing. No matter what happened, no one else should have to be put through what so many already had.

"Don't do that, girl."

Very slowly, Missile turned her head to glare at Korse, who had his gun pointed at her.

"What if I do?" she asked almost tauntingly. "What'll happen?"

Korse didn't move. "Get away from it, Grace. Don't think I won't shoot you. You're nothing to me."

Missile snorted. "How's that bad?"

The man took a step closer, and Missile tensed. "One more step and _I'll_ shoot," she threatened, and he chuckled, trying to brush it off like it would be nothing if she did, but there was something hidden under it…concern?

"You should listen to me," Korse said. "You can still join everyone else. You're young; you could live out the rest of your life—"

"All drugged up and emotionless—sounds great!"

"You shouldn't care what happens to the rest of those rebels; they killed your brother, and even influenced you enough to kill your own father. Are you proud of that? Is that what you wanted?"

Missile blinked but otherwise did not move, her expression blank.

"We can correct you; make you stop thinking like this and instead focus on a better life. Think about it—you have_ nothing _left! We've already beaten the Killjoys downstairs, and if not then we _will,_ very soon. It's your choice, Grace. But you've got ten seconds to decide, or I _will _shoot you."

Missile was silent for a moment, watching the man as he very clearly readied to end her life.

"You're right," she murmured at last, monotone, and Korse, for a moment, appeared to lower the gun just a fraction of an inch, as if he were surprised.

She then glared at him, with more hatred than she had felt for anyone else in her entire life, even for her father, for the Dracs who'd taken her brother—for BLI in whole.

"I do have nothing left."

Two gunshots, one right after the other, echoed down the hallway.


	11. The Ghost Of You

Chapter Eleven 

The Ghost Of You

"Frankie, please, wake up!"

Frank blinked, his vision blurred, feeling someone stroke his cheek and then put their hand under his chin to lift his gaze.

"_Or I always have you. I wouldn't have to do anything to Way…"_

The Killjoy gasped, squirming to get away as the scene only continued in his mind.

"It's just me!" Gerard whispered, breaking away the memory, moving his grip to his terrified boyfriend's shoulders, trying to prevent him from struggling. "Frank, it's me—it's Gerard!"

"…Gee?" Frank mumbled, his senses slowly returning, the sounds of guns blasting and people shouting ringing in his ears. "What…?"

"It's okay," Gerard murmured, releasing him, and Frank shook his head, unable to remember what had just happened, finally noticing he was leaning against the wall they'd been shooting from behind, his gun on the floor beside him. "Sorry…" he said at last, realizing he had fainted, and he struggled up, getting to his knees first and then his feet, holding onto Gerard's arm for support.

What happened next was so completely unexpected that none of the remaining Killjoys could comprehend it. Hell, none of them even knew if the _Dracs _had realized it before they simply stopped fighting, directly in the middle of the battle, leaving every single one of the rebels utterly confused, momentarily frozen, before they began shooting again. The Dracs remained still for several moments more, until there were hardly a handful left, then raising their guns in an attempt to continue the fight but killed before they could get more than a single shot out, hitting none of them.

The lobby went dead silent, almost_ frighteningly_ so.

"…The fuck just happened?" Gerard finally muttered, and his voice echoed surprisingly loud. Electric Candy glanced at him almost immediately, startled to see them there. "Did you guys do that?"

"No," Gerard answered, and Frank found his wrist, grabbing it, using his other hand to wipe tears from his eyes, not sure where they'd come from. He felt sick again; _very _sick, and this time he couldn't ignore it, vaguely trembling and sweating.

Gerard must have sensed something, because he reached out and put an arm around his waist, drawing him close, surprised to feel shivers racking him.

"Something…something short circuited them!" Rainbow murmured, and Gerard shook his head, astonished. "That's impossible…the Dracs are—"

He stopped himself. They'd just killed so many, and were all clearly drained…they didn't need to know right now. And maybe that had been _exactly _what had happened, though he wasn't quite sure how.

There was a flash from under a doorway on the other side of the lobby, and Gerard almost smiled as he saw it. _Missile, _he concluded, remembering her fear of the dark. She must have been given a light of some sort.

"_Gee,_" Frank whimpered softly, and then jerked out of his grip in the same moment, placing his hands on his knees, his head lowered. Gerard gasped in concern, stepping towards him, and then winced as Frank began retching, stopping after a few long moments and giving an agonized groan, now aching worse than before.

Gerard put a hand on his back, gently rubbing it to comfort him and kissing his head, worriedly frowning and then looking up once again, noticing the other Killjoys were either staring at them or at the Dracs on the ground, either way in disbelief of what had just happened. Gerard looked around, expecting there to be another wave of Dracs coming to attack them, but none came, and at last he led his love towards the door the light had been under, followed by several of the others who didn't remain where they were, stunned, and he jerked the door open to see—_not _Missile, but the two injured Killjoys still sprawled on the steps, alone.

Mikey was holding a small flashlight, however, something he hadn't had before. His eyes were closed, but he was biting his lip, his expression troubled; Gerard wasn't sure if this meant he was still conscious or not, and so he whispered, "We're getting you out of here, okay?"

His brother didn't respond, and he looked over at Ray, noting his face was very pale, and he turned to the others. "Help me."

"Is that it?" a younger Killjoy murmured, her voice quick and hoarse, like she was in shock. "Is it? That can't be…no, that can't be it, we're still—"

"It doesn't matter," Gerard interrupted her, lifting his brother up just a bit with a wince. "We have to get them out. Please, just…"

He glanced at Frank, who was leaning against the wall and staring at nothing, dazed, an arm around his stomach, and then several Killjoys came over to help.

"Missile!" Gerard shouted as two of them took Mikey from him, leaning back to look up the stairs. "God damn it…she was supposed to stay…"

He trailed off without realizing it, his eyes widened. Had _she _done what had just happened? And if so, how had she been aware of what to do?

The red head called her name again, now knowing it was pointless, and then stood, noticing something dark at the middle part of the stairs, feeling nauseous as he realized it was blood. But was it from Missile? Or...from whoever had gotten her to leave?

"You guys gotta get them out of here, okay?" he said, turning back to the others and unnecessarily gesturing at the two they were supporting.

"Where are you going?" Frank frowned, his voice hoarse, and Gerard looked at him solemnly. "To get Missile."

"How can you know which way she went?" Candy asked, and Gerard glanced at her without replying.

"I'll come w—"

"No," Gerard cut Frank off. The younger Killjoy appeared frightened, though couldn't be sure what exactly the reason for this was, wishing he could merely comfort him. "You've gotta go before something else happens."

"But—"

"_Please,_" Gerard interrupted with, and, without waiting for an answer, began up the stairs, gun gripped tightly, forcing himself to act as if he had the strength for whatever he was doing.

The Killjoys watched him go for a moment, and then Candy reluctantly murmured, "Right. Let's go."

"No! I'm not leaving him!" Frank moved towards the steps, but the Killjoy next to him, Fire Bullet, grabbed his arms before he could, knowing he was too weak to fight him.

Candy looked at him seriously as she stepped in front of him. "_Listen. _We're gonna get these two to Dr. D, and then we're coming back." She frowned. "There's no one left, anyway. But we're not leaving him, okay?"

"No…" Frank shook his head weakly. He knew they couldn't have done anything at the moment, anyway; all the Killjoys that weren't injured were trying to hold Mikey and Ray up as gently as they could, and the rest hadn't even looked like they could have made it up the stairs.

_Please…be careful, _he thought, his eyes on where Gerard had vanished, and then he nodded shakily, not protesting again as they turned and exited the stairwell.

* * *

><p>"Kid?"<p>

The red head's voice was nothing more than a whisper by now, both because he was paranoid of being heard, and that, if he called it louder and got no reply, he would start believing the worst.

It was very quiet on the floor, however. It really seemed that the remainder of the BLI agents had fled once they'd realized they'd run out of Dracs to send in to fight. Such a thing was almost unbelievable, as he never expected them to practically give up, but there wasn't another reason he could think of that would cause them to do so.

And unfortunately, he had long stopped knowing if this was even the correct way; the trail of blood had stopped at the door to the floor he was on now. If she had somehow—

"Looking for someone, Way?"

The voice stopped him and his thoughts instantly, with such force he almost fell forward. He furiously swung his gun around to who had spoken, prepared to kill him, and then froze as he found he was aiming at Missile Kid, her eyes the only part of her giving away how terrified she was. Her mouth was covered by the agent's hand, the other pointing his own gun at her head.

Korse clicked his tongue almost scornfully, smirking. "You wouldn't shoot her, now would you?" he taunted.

"Let her go." the Killjoy demanded, feeling his own fear creeping up on him. _Stop—please—focus!_

The man didn't move. "Drop your gun and I might consider it."

"_Now!_" Gerard shouted, and Missile flinched.

"You've never exactly been in the best place to argue, Way. If you refuse, I will kill her. Do you understand?"

Gerard remained silent, his gaze on Missile, and then he slowly lowered his weapon.

"I said, _'drop it'._"

The red head hesitated. If he obeyed, he would have nothing against the man. But…had he really had anything to begin with? The man was threatening to kill whom he very much knew the Killjoy cared far too much about.

Korse shifted the weapon impatiently against Missile's head, and she exhaled sharply, but as her eyes met Gerard's, she sent a silent, clear message, shaking her head ever so slightly.

_Don't do it. Shoot him; forget me._

_I can't. _Gerard averted his gaze, and then his gun struck the tile.

"You really are pathetic." Korse said, looking him over.

Gerard stared at him in hatred. "_Let. Her. Go._"

The agent was still for a few moments more, and then he abruptly shoved Missile forward. She staggered, and Gerard reached out to catch her, stepping in front of her after she'd steadied, solemnly glaring at the man, who now had the gun pointed at him, stepping forward and kicking the weapon away from Gerard's feet.

"You just can't deal with the fact we won, can you?" Gerard jeered, and Missile clutched his hand very tightly.

Korse actually laughed. "You think it's over, hmm?"

Gerard snickered mockingly. "Well, your Dracs fucked up, so…"

Korse sighed, looking at Missile. "Ah, yes. It's very unfortunate little Gracie decided to shoot the equipment we used to send messages to them. I'm afraid it caused a quick malfunction in the orders given to kill you all."

Gerard practically smirked. "Shit, Korse. Beaten by a ten-year-old…" He sucked in a breath through his teeth and feigned a wince. "That's rough. All your badass agents ran away scared of her."

"Of _her?_ No. And I would think it was more of a precautionary measure—one I will very soon take place in, as well. They didn't want to be involved in what's about to take place in…oh, I'd say, an hour?"

Gerard unknowingly took a step back. "What're you talking about?"

Without warning, the agent lashed out, striking Gerard hard with the barrel of his gun, watching him nearly knock Missile over as he stumbled. Missile gave a small whimper and pressed herself against the wall, eyeing the gun Korse had kicked away.

"I'm talking about," Korse continued, hitting him again as he recovered, "that soon, in sixty minutes or less, Battery City is going to be nothing but more dust and sand."

Gerard looked up, blinking blood out of his wide eyes. "What?"

Korse smirked without replying, and then Gerard seemed to understand anyway. "Oh, God…the deadline…"

"Unfortunately, it's being put into action sooner than we had originally planned. Your little raid has assured that."

"You're fucking_ bombing_ the city?" Gerard demanded, his hands clenching in anger. "With everyone _in _it?"

As if it was the most ridiculous question he'd ever heard, Korse merely sighed in irritation.

"Those are innocent people, you bastard! Children!" the red head shouted, and he stepped forward so suddenly Korse raised the gun to aim at his chest again. "If we believed someone deserved to live, or we could use them, we moved them months ago."

"If they _deserved _to live? Who the fuck are you to decide that?"

Korse's smirk returned, ignoring him. "And there are so many more people where we're going…"

"And where's that?" Gerard asked, pale, his eyes on the weapon, and Korse rolled his eyes. "I'm getting sick of this, boy."

"Why the hell did you ever need me if you were just going to kill everyone anyways?"

Korse released an exasperated breath. "There were hundreds who needed to evacuate from this building. You really believe we would have allowed even a _chance _of being caused trouble in the desert by all of you?"

"You still think we won't? Not every single Killjoy is here."

"A handful will be _much _easier to kill than the number it was before. It's a little amusing," he chuckled, "that by planning this cute little attempt at overtaking us, you really only assisted us."

"What're you gonna prove by killing all those people, huh? That you're a fucking threat? They wouldn't be able to know either way, wherever you think you're going is gonna _hate_ you for it, and_ we're_ not scared of you. Never have been, and never will be."

"Not scared of us!" Korse mocked, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back, leaning over his shoulder to whisper into his ear. "_You _are _terrified_, Way. Especially of me—after what _I _did to you."

He roughly shoved Gerard to the ground, swinging the gun around to point at Missile.

"No!" Gerard exclaimed, eyes wide, but Korse only glanced at him, driving his shoe into the Killjoy's side, temporarily immobilizing him, and then turning his attention back to the girl, smirking at the fear she was no longer trying to hide from him. "You could've put the gun down before." he said, not expecting a reply. "It wouldn't have come to this."

"Please…kill me!" Gerard moaned from the floor, struggling to his feet, getting in front of Missile before the man could shoot. "Just…not her…I'm the one you said you wanted to make suffer. So fucking get it over with, Korse. Shoot me."

"I _have_ made you suffer, Gerard." the agent chuckled. "Don't you remember? You _and_ little Frankie." He smirked, pausing for effect. "You even stopped crying before I was done."

Gerard flinched so violently he staggered.

Korse smirked, pleased it had gotten to him as much as it had. He looked over the Killjoy, who averted his gaze, unequivocally ashamed and discomfited. "You're just a scared, pathetic little nothing. Look at yourself—you're shaking. Party Poison would never have _trembled _in front of me."

The red head's eyes stung, and then all at once couldn't hold back, tears mixing with blood as they ran down his face.

"He wouldn't _cry,_ either…"

"Fuck you," he muttered weakly, still not looking up.

"_I already did,_" Korse sneered, and Missile tensed behind the Killjoy, giving a little gasp. Gerard shrieked in anger, shoving the man back and then punching him as hard as he could. The agent hardly reacted despite placing his free hand on the spot the Killjoy had hit him, raising his gun and striking the red head across the face with it, pausing as he fell to the ground with a grunt, shuddering with effort as he fought to get back up.

"And do you know _why _I did, boy?"

"'C-cause you're sick—" Gerard spat breathlessly, blinking stars out of his vision. "—that's why!"

The agent disregarded the insults, and the moment he'd gotten to his feet again, Korse shoved him back against the wall, knocking the air out of him and pinning him there, pressing his arm into his neck. "Because I wanted to see you break." he finally said, smirking. "Completely. I want to always be known as the one who made an absolute, utter _coward _out of the leader of the Killjoys—_and_ his little love."

Gerard coughed. "Y-you fucking _ra_—" he cut off as Korse brought his knee up hard, tensing and crying out, his eyes squeezing shut immediately.

"And you know what, Way? You couldn't do anything to stop me." Korse murmured. "Not one single thing. I could have _killed _Iero, and you would've simply stayed where you were, _helpless_. You are, and always have been, too weak. How did you _ever_ become their leader?"

Gerard moaned softly as the man released him, exhaling sharply and collapsing, curling up in anguish, his already limited awareness starting to ebb.

"You're a _joke, _Gerard Way. And I'm the one who finally beat you." Korse watched him for a moment uncaringly and then looked for the girl, finding she wasn't where she had been, and before he could turn a shot was fired.

The Killjoy on the ground shouted in fear, again realized he hadn't been killed, and then forced himself to open his eyes, to raise his head just a bit, in time to see Korse stagger and fall to the side.

Missile Kid stood behind him, the gun Gerard had had smoking in her trembling hand.

He almost smiled in relief.

And then he heard a second shot.

Practically in slow motion, the ten-year-old fell to her knees, letting out a short, startled cry.

"_No!_" Gerard shouted. He scrambled up, pain momentarily forgotten, and caught her before she could hit the ground. "Oh my God—no, no, no…" he mumbled, removing his hand from her side and overwhelmed with horror as he found it was stained red with blood, the bottom of her shirt already nearly covered in it.

He fumbled to get his jacket off and then pressed it to her side. She gasped in agony, and Gerard eyed the gun in her limp grip, heard movement behind them. He grabbed it, jumped to his feet, whipped around—and found no one.

The hallway was empty.

Shaking, tears running down his cheeks, Gerard staggered. "_You fucking bastard!_" he screamed, as loud as his voice would allow. "_Why her?_"

He slumped to his knees as only silence responded, turning his attention back to Missile, and only then did he get his answer.

The man had taken every chance he got to further shatter his spirit, anything he could do to cause him pain. He'd hurt his brother and his friends and gone even further and now…

He'd known exactly what he was doing. Gerard's desperate attempts to stop him from injuring her had only sealed her fate. He had done the last thing he could think of to break him—by wounding the girl they all cared for, who they'd tried so desperately to save from them. Her father was gone, anyway, and there'd been no one to stop him from doing so. He didn't care; he never had.

"Please, no…" Gerard whimpered, applying pressure to his jacket again, blinking back tears, crying out as the need to save her and the fear it was too late to do so overtook him. Her breathing was terribly labored, and she was pale—far paler than he'd ever seen anyone become before, unless they were about to…

"D-Doc…" he mumbled, almost without knowing. It didn't even register that the Doc wouldn't have been able to get up the stairs, anyway—he just knew someone had to help. He gathered as much strength as he could, shrieking, "_Doc!" _and then sobbing loudly when he got no reply. He shook his head, taking her hand. "Missile…Missile, please, open your eyes. Can you hear me? You're gonna live—you _gotta _live, please…"

The ten-year-old whimpered softly, her eyes fluttering open just slightly, and though she looked right at him she didn't seem to see him. He put his arms around her and tried to lift her, thinking maybe he could get her downstairs, but he simply couldn't. He hadn't enough energy left in him, and even as he managed to get to his knees, he could get no farther, slumping back against the wall and sliding to the floor again.

_Get up! Please! Fucking _get _up!_

He tried again without getting as far as he had the first time, this effort ending in the same result, finally acknowledging the fact he'd refused to before—he was absolutely _helpless._

"Missile," he whispered, then raised his voice again. "Please—Doc! Frank! _A__nyone!_"

The only sound that answered was both of their shallow gasps echoing off the walls.

"No…no, _please!_" he begged, refusing to believe he could do nothing, and then groaned hopelessly, leaning Missile's frail form back into his arms.

"…Party…?" Her voice was hardly audible, and her eyes slipped closed again after she'd said it.

"You're gonna be okay," Gerard murmured, clenching his teeth and then shaking his head again. "I promised I'd get you out…that I'd protect you…God, I promised—I promised you'd be okay…just—hold on, okay? I'll…I'll find a way to get you out…"

He gently kissed her forehead to quiet her barely audible whimper, the hand holding his jacket against her side shaking violently. Maybe if he could just stop the bleeding, she would have a chance to—

He pulled back suddenly as she shuddered very vaguely, giving a soft sigh, and he stared at her for a moment before letting out a miserable cry. "No," he whimpered, and then he shouted it, angry, leaning over the girl who had saved all of their lives so many times, who had made this rescue possible…

And the same girl who was now gone.

"_Please_…" Gerard whispered, but his increasingly frantic gasps were alone now. He glanced at the blood on his hands and arms, groaning and shaking his head, bending over Missile and beginning to sob, absolutely heartbroken. "No!"

_I'm so sorry…_

The Killjoy was only just aware of the stairway door opening from down the hall minutes later, Frank and five others rushing over to him, shocked, and yet he didn't look up—_couldn't _look up—refusing to move, almost as if he expected that to make what had just happened undo itself.

But it didn't. Missile Kid was dead, and there was nothing he could do about it. There was nothing he _could've _done about it, no matter how much he wished it had been different.

Rainbow Reaction bent down next to them, reaching out to the ten-year-old to find a pulse, closing her eyes and turning away when she couldn't.

Frank got to his knees, putting his hand on Gerard's shoulders, but he still gave no reaction, utterly numb and uncaring, and the black-haired Killjoy's gaze went to Missile, horrified. He then looked at Rainbow, as if he expected her to tell them all it wasn't what he thought. "She's not…right?"

Rainbow did not respond, and Frank let out a little cry, eyes back on the girl, and then his boyfriend, shaken. "_Gee,_" he whispered, and Gerard only blinked. "C'mon, babe, we need to—" He was cut short as Gerard simply slumped to the side, and he caught him before he could hit the tile.

"I got 'em," one of the Killjoys assured him, and Frank stayed on his knees. He looked at Missile, touched a finger to her cheek, and then closed his eyes. She was so cold...

He felt an arm around his waist lift him up, maneuvering his other arm to rest on their shoulders, and he could hardly find in himself the will to walk.

Rainbow stood at last, biting her lip as she cast a final, sorrowful glance at the girl, and then, after a long moment, followed the others.

* * *

><p>The Killjoys who hadn't gone back with the others to find the two stayed outside, all by Dr. Death Defying's van, almost afraid of the building, despite being fairly sure there was no longer a threat, stunned and not quite sure what to think of what had happened.<p>

Electrical Wire, one of the younger Killjoys of about sixteen, went over to where Rejection was kneeling on the ground, eyes closed.

"Re?" he murmured, and she slowly looked up at him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm…" she trailed off. She wanted to lie and say yes, but she couldn't. Not when the only thing she could think about was how she was never going to see her brother again. "No."

"I'm sorry." Wire continued, placing a hand on her shoulder, and only then did he notice that the side of her shirt was covered in blood, having previously been covered by her jacket, and he gasped. "You're hurt!"

"Yeah." she murmured, sounding uncaring, and Wire frowned. "Re, you're in shock or something, stand up! You gotta let Dr. D look at that!"

When she did no such thing, Wire let out an irritated grunt and turned around, walking quickly over to Dr. Death Defying's van, eyeing what he was using to finish wrapping another one of the Killjoy's wounds. "Can I see that?" he asked, and Dr. D nodded without looking up. Wire grabbed the roll of gauze and set back off towards Rejection.

He bent down in front of her, showing her the gauze. "Fine; if you won't move, then here."

She very clearly saw it, but she didn't acknowledge it, looking away.

Wire gritted his teeth and leaned towards her, lifting her shirt just enough to see the wound along her hip, wrapping the stuff around her several times very tightly. It seemed to already have stopped bleeding, but he couldn't be sure. Dr. D would tend to it properly when he was finished with the others.

He ripped the gauze and secured it, lowering her shirt again and realizing he was blushing furiously. Rejection's eyes had closed again, though, so she hadn't seen, and he cleared his throat, standing again and wiping some of the blood he'd gotten on his hands off on his jeans, wincing.

Then, someone behind him murmured, "Look," and the Killjoys did so to see the group that was heading towards them, and Dr. D almost immediately did so, eyes widened at first in what almost looked like hope, and then confusion as they approached.

"Where's Missile?" he asked once they all were close enough, and not one of them looked up at him, though Rainbow stopped walking, continuing to stare at the ground as the others hauled the two Killjoys towards where the cars were very closely parked together.

At last, Rainbow made eye-contact, and instantly Dr. D groaned, averting his gaze from her and turning his scooter around, a hand over his face as he clearly understood.

"I'm sorry," Rainbow murmured. "She was already…she was gone when we found them."

"…Who did it?" _I'll fucking kill them._

"I don't know. Poison couldn't say."

Dr. D shook his head. No, he couldn't think about it—the others were injured, he had to help them, no matter how much he…he just had to help them. He moved off towards his van, and Rainbow followed.

"Come on, stand up!" Fire Bullet was muttering into Frank's ear, his arms shaking from exhaustion as he tried to support the Killjoy single-handedly. Frank gave no acknowledgement he had heard, though his eyes were open, and Bright Moon whirled towards them. "What the hell is your problem?" she exclaimed, glaring at Bullet as he attempted to make the dazed boy stand, and then he stopped, staring at her like he was surprised.

Muttering curses under her breath and yet understanding that the Killjoy was too tired to hold him up, Moon gently grabbed Frank from him, gritting her teeth and lifting him up to sit beside where they'd laid the red head.

Dr. D stopped in front of them, frowning, and then gently took Frank's arm, looking over the bruising and watching him wince in pain as it was moved. It wasn't broken; sprained, but nothing more. "Ghoul? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah." Frank replied, blinking hard and then squinting like he was trying to remember something, glancing down and noticing Gerard's leg beside him, putting his hand on it. "Gee…"

Dr. D frowned, his attention on the gash on his head, and then he grabbed something from his bag, reaching up and putting a hand on the boy's cheek, turning his head to face him again and shining a light into each of his eyes. He cringed away from it but was forced to keep still as the Doc flicked it on and off multiple times on both before releasing him and setting the small flashlight down.

"Is he okay?" Skye murmured, coming over to them and crossing her arms.

"He's got a concussion…" Dr. D began to reach for something else, frowning as he heard a soft mumble. "_Frankie…_"

"Party?" Skye began.

Gerard blinked, turning his head towards the distorted figure beside him. "Gotta…we've…Frankie…?"

Frank frowned and then looked at him, grabbing his hand. "I'm here."

"Korse…BLI…they're…the city…gotta get away…"

"What?" Frank gawked at him, already having a difficult time understanding words that weren't slurred together.

Gerard squeezed his boyfriend's hand desperately, wishing his muddled brain would focus enough to form a complete sentence. "We have to go…" he murmured a bit louder. "There's a…there's a bomb…in the city…"

Dr. Death Defying froze, wondering immediately if he had heard right. "Party," he frowned, looking back to the Killjoy, and then repeated it when he didn't respond to the name.

"Gee," Frank whispered, and Gerard blinked again, managing to raise his head just slightly, seemingly just now noticing the Doc.

"What are you talking about?" Dr. D asked. "There's a bomb?"

The red head nodded frantically, wincing. "…Hour…no—less…"

"That's why they ran," the man mumbled, and then shook his head, turning his scooter around and raising his voice. "Hey!" He immediately had everyone's attention. "We need to move."

"Why?" Rainbow asked, and Dr. D looked at her, hesitant to tell her. They had all been adamant about assuring Battery City's safety, willing to give their lives fighting for its freedom. And now what was he asking them to do? _Leave? _Run away to save themselves? He was fairly positive that if they were aware that was the reason, they wouldn't be too thrilled about leaving.

He glanced at the red head, slumped back again and grimacing in pain as he struggled to stay awake, the Killjoy now leaning on him fighting the same battle, and then out at the others. They were all hurt, exhausted…and he didn't want to lose any of the rest of them. He simply wouldn't allow anyone else to die.

He _couldn't._

"Just," he settled with, "follow my van. And _keep up_."

* * *

><p>"Gee, c'mon, you've gotta drink something," Frank tried as he sat next to his boyfriend in the back of one of the other Killjoy's cars, driven by Show Pony, one arm tightly around him and the other hand holding a water bottle to his lips, yet the red head reacted to nothing, continuing to stare blankly at the seats, like they were the most intriguing things he'd ever seen.<p>

"God damn it," Frank muttered. The twenty-four-year-old had been fading in and out of consciousness since they'd gotten in the car, and although Frank had been fighting sleep off, so had he. He couldn't help it. But it wasn't like it was surprising; no longer being in the building, at last being given water, and having Gerard in his arms—it was more comfort than he had felt in what seemed like forever.

"Gerard," he frowned, trying to do anything he could to wake him from the daze, "if you don't, Dr. D's gonna stick an I.V. in you when we stop."

Still nothing. DJ Hot Chimp briefly glanced back at them from the passenger seat.

"A _needle,_ Gee."

Gerard flinched like he'd been struck. "Not again…please, not again…" he mumbled, and Frank winced, though was sort of contented to have gotten a reply. "To help; it wouldn't hurt you, I promise." He raised the bottle again, and this time Gerard drank, coughing once as he swallowed painfully, though it did seem to somewhat reorient him.

"That's it, see?" Frank murmured soothingly, kissing the top of his head.

"M-Mikey…?"

"Dr. D said he'll be fine," he replied. "His ankle is fractured and he's sick, but nothing deadly. And Ray's wound isn't too deep. They're both going to live."

"…I'm…" Gerard's eyes slipped shut again before he could finish, his head lowering onto Frank's shoulder, and the younger Killjoy capped the bottle with an exhausted sigh.

"You okay?" DJ asked at last.

Frank didn't answer for a moment, and then finally decided to settle for the absolute truth. "No."

"I'm sorry."

Frank frowned. "It wasn't your fault."

She sighed and looked away. "I still wish I could have done something about…I mean, I wish…" she trailed off and bit her lip, her eyes watering slightly.

Frank felt his own eyes began to sting, and he swallowed hard, blinking, fighting the tears back. Gerard stirred slightly, enough to move his hand and clasp it with Frank's.

Composing himself, at least for the moment, Frank put his back against the door, leaning him back in his arms and murmuring softly, "I love you, Gerard. No matter what happens, or what _happened, _I love you more than anything." He paused briefly. "You do hear me, don't you?"

"Mm," came a soft reply, if it could even be called that.

Frank smiled slightly as Gerard rested his head against his chest, seemingly content for the moment snuggled against him, then blinked hard, the vibrations of the vehicle numbing.

DJ glanced back at them again, clearing her throat. "We managed to find clothes at one of the warehouses we stopped at, so…you can change when we…when we find a place to stay."

Frank didn't know if he could ever express how grateful he was for those words. He wanted nothing to do with what he was wearing at the moment, for more reasons than just them being filthy. Then, almost at once, he began thinking about what he prayed wouldn't happen. He wasn't sure if the whole conversation between himself, Gerard, and the Doc had actually occured or been part of some illusion caused by his concussion. It certainly felt like it, and he certainly _hoped _that's all it had been. But if it hadn't…

_We're running away. We're fucking abandoning them. All those innocent people…_

He trembled, the mere thought upsetting enough to make him cry.

_But I can't. Not now. _

He had to be strong; for Gerard, for everything they'd gone through, for the sake of his own fucking _sanity, _he had to be strong.

Unfortunately that was _much _easier said than done.

Wasn't everything, though?

"I'm sorry, Gerard," he whispered, kissing the top of his head. _And Missile…God, I'm so sorry…_

There was an earsplitting _crack _in the distance, and all of them flinched. Pony slammed his foot on the breaks in shock, almost causing the car behind them to crash into them, swerving to the side before stopping as well.

Frank immediately turned, despite knowing he probably shouldn't have, and let out a cry as he saw a very vague orange light in the distance, immediately panicking.

_They're dead. Everyone's dead._

"Frank…" Gerard mumbled, his eyes suddenly open and widened in absolute terror, and Frank tightened his grip, not allowing him to move as he squirmed desperately and tried to sit up, refusing to let him see, squeezing his eyes shut, overwhelmed by the ache in his head and his heart. _Dead. They're all dead…we were supposed to save them…they never even expected anything…we failed them. Oh my God, we failed them all…_

He was just too tired to fight anymore; against his exhaustion, his fear—_anything_. And that very much included the tears he'd been holding back for hours, which began to seep out from behind his eyelids and flow down his cheeks.

He heard DJ say something, her tone shocked, but did not make out what the words were. He felt Gerard give up his feeble struggles, going still and giving a soft groan before drifting back into an unavoidable slumber.

Then he was aware of nothing.


	12. I'm Too Awake For This To Be A Nightmare

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed/favorited/story-alerted, I really do appreciate it! :) **

**Chapter title is from the song Over My Head (Better Off Dead) by Sum 41.**

Chapter Twelve

I'm Too Awake For This To Be A Nightmare

The group drove on until it was dark. By then, they had traveled through Zone 12 and far beyond it, until they could no longer see ahead of them without the use of headlights. They tried to preserve the batteries of the vehicles whenever possible, though, and all of them were thoroughly exhausted anyway, desperately needing the rest, and so the van Cloudy Skye was driving stopped, outside of a beaten up warehouse, off the road. She opened the door and solemnly jumped out, her boots kicking up dust as they hit the ground.

"What is it?" Rainbow Reaction murmured, getting out of her own car with several others, and Skye turned to her, along with the rest as they emerged from the vehicles. "Shelter."

Wire felt a wave of relief. "It's safe to stay here?"

Skye glanced at DJ, who was leaning against the car, her arms crossed, almost as if she expected her to answer for her, and then took a breath, looking at the sixteen-year-old. "I don't know why not. I mean, I'd be worried of being attacked, but…they're gone."

"We still shouldn't stay too long," Bright Moon pointed out, and DJ nodded. "Just long enough for all of us to get our strength back."

"What about food?" Electric Candy murmured. "We've only got a little…no way it's enough for all of us."

Skye chewed her bottom lip. "We'll figure it out. I'll make sure it's safe, anyway." She inched into the warehouse, grabbing her gun and clicking on her flashlight, not taking any chances.

Dr. D, after being helped out and once again in his scooter, shook his head just enough DJ noticed. "You all right, Doc?"

The man did not respond for a moment, and then cleared his throat. "We should get the others inside as soon as she comes back."

DJ glanced at Show Pony, who gave a little shrug. Neither of them were sure if he hadn't answered because he simply hadn't heard her, or because he didn't know _how _to answer, but they left it at that, carefully opening the door of the car they'd been in the two inside weren't leaning on.

"All clear," Skye called after another minute or so, stepping out, a small, tired, but absolutely thrilled smile on her face. "You gotta see."

Frowning, two of the Killjoys stepped forward, peering into the warehouse as Skye shone her light around in it, and then they grinned as well.

Inside were nearly ten, large, practically full containers of water, along with a pile of unopened cans of food.

"No way," Chaotic Cat murmured, relief flooding through her. Where had all of this even come from? Had there been Killjoys here before them? And if so, where on earth had they been heading towards? She was obviously grateful they had left what they hadn't used, though; whether they'd been aware anyone else would stay here again at the time or not, they'd probably just saved their lives.

Skye smiled, sighing. There was more than enough room for the sixteen of them, and if they hid the cars behind it…no one would think too much about it if they happened to come by.

_BLI is gone. They won't come back this way._

But the fear they had gotten used to feeling almost constantly was still very much with her—with them all, she knew.

_And we're not out of danger yet. _

Whatever the reason BLI had had for bombing Battery City, they had clearly been planning it for a long while. And that meant that there was a _hidden _reason behind what they already did not know, and—call her paranoid—she didn't believe for a second that this fight was anywhere near over.

Lost in thought, Skye didn't notice DJ until she heard a grunt, gasping in surprise and stepping out of the doorway so she and Pony could get past, gently carrying one of the four they had rescued.

She turned towards the others, who were all gradually bringing the injured inside, and she moved away from the warehouse completely, walking over to Dr. D, who was next to his now opened van, staring off into the distance.

"Doc?" she murmured cautiously, and he very slowly looked at her. "Mm?"

"I'm…I'm sorry. About everything."

Dr. D sighed loudly. "It's not your fault, Skye." He eyed her seriously. "You don't think that, do you?"

"No, no, I don't." Skye shook her head. "It's…" she trailed off and shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just glad we found somewhere to stay for the night."

"It's gonna be longer than just tonight. If we want to keep moving, everyone needs to be well enough to do that." He glanced behind her for a moment. "I guarantee none of 'em will be better by morning."

Skye felt a sudden panic. "Are they that bad off?"

Dr. D frowned, shaking his head. "No. Not terribly. And I don't mean…not physically. I mean, that's gonna take time, too, it's just…"

She understood at once as he averted his gaze, flustered. "Oh," she murmured, biting her lip.

The man swallowed hard. "I don't know what happened to them while they were there, but…"

None of them were awake, and so Skye couldn't tell herself what exactly he meant, but she could see how they'd be pretty emotionally battered. Anyone would be, even just after what she'd _witnessed _them being put through, let alone anything that had happened in the days they had been planning to rescue them.

"And don't ask, either." Dr. D said, his eyes back on her. "I don't want 'em attacked with questions when they wake up."

"Yeah, of course," Skye nodded, forcing a small smile. "I'm just…I'm sorry for everything."

Dr. D lost the concentration he'd had again, his eyes going out to the distance behind her once more. "She was ten. I wasn't…"

"You couldn't have done anything."

Dr. D shook his head, looking like he wanted to say something but failing to, and Skye turned as DJ called, "You guys comin'?"

"Yeah," Skye replied, and then froze as she heard the Doc whisper something, barely audible.

"I knew her before, Skye. Before the fires."

"What?" Skye turned to gawk at him, eyes wide.

He bit his lip. "I knew her mother. Really well. Grace was barely two…I thought…" He cleared his throat softly. "I thought I recognized her, before…and when Jet told me her father worked for BLI…" he trailed off, shrugging ever so slightly like he simply couldn't continue speaking about it.

Skye placed both of her hands together and to her mouth, murmuring softly, "Did…she know?"

Dr. D vaguely shook his head yet again, and then placed a hand on his arm rest. "D-don't say anything about this."

Skye numbly nodded, and he gave a shaky sigh before starting towards the warehouse, and she stayed a moment longer before following, stunned.

* * *

><p><em>Ow! My fucking foot!<em>

Both the thought and the sudden jolt of pain jerked Mikey awake, leaving him wincing and disoriented. So he wasn't dead; that was a relief. Or else he _was, _and the realization that this was all actually just some afterlife-type limbo simply hadn't kicked in yet.

He tried to move and failed, instead blinking hard several times and awaiting his vision to clear. There was a dull light shining on him from the window he was lying next to, and he was instantly intrigued—a window? There hadn't been any in the room before…

He lifted his head a bit, enough to look around, frowning at the unfamiliar surroundings. _What the hell happened? _He remembered absolutely nothing except little snippets of being in the cell, Ray speaking to him, and Gerard…but he'd dreamed that part, hadn't he?

Maybe he was still dreaming—yes, that had to be what was going on. Or else, Korse had finally decided to do something with them. In which case, if he wasn't dead already and was merely hallucinating, it wouldn't be long until he was.

"Ray…?" he mumbled softly, and then felt his panic rising as no one answered. "Frank?"

His voice must have been loud enough to alert whoever was near him, and he heard, "Ssh, it's okay."

Mikey let out an accidental whimper of fear. "W-where…?"

"You're safe, Kobra." the woman continued, and Mikey winced. "…Skye?"

"Yeah, it's me." There were a few footsteps, and then she was beside him, kneeling.

"What happened? Where's Ger—my brother?"

"You're all here, safe."

Mikey's uneasiness melted away into a relieved confusion.

"Are you in pain?" Skye asked. "Your fever's been gone since yesterday, but…" she trailed off and placed a hand on his cheek, noticing his flinch and yet more focused on how cool his skin was. The illness he'd been fighting was clearly, _thankfully _gone.

"Mm…my ankle," Mikey murmured, and she almost instantly was holding a closed hand out before him, gripping a bottle of water with the other.

His eyes went to it, and he bit his lip; he honestly wanted that more than he wanted to see the others. He lifted his hand a bit, to grab the water, and she handed him both the plastic and two small blue pills.

Mikey blinked at them. "What're—"

"Pain killers. Nothing more, I promise."

Still with a bit of hesitation, he raised the tablets to his lips, downing the water as well. "Thanks." He tried to sit up again, and yet Skye put her hands on his shoulders. "Are you sure?" she asked, and Mikey frowned. "Yeah, I'm okay."

She released him and he straightened up, looking around again and abruptly realizing there were three other motionless figures around him, though with enough room between them that they could completely lie out, unlike many of the other times they had had to sleep on the run, usually in their car and very close together, tensed and not efficiently resting, always prepared to jump up and fight or run away from danger.

"Gee," he murmured in recognition of the red-haired Killjoy beside him, his head facing the opposite direction, an arm lying limp across his chest.

He glanced back up at Skye, who gave him a little smile, and only then did he realize he could now see her entirely clear, the light outside growing brighter. _So it's morning. _He'd lived to see another day.

He smiled a bit at that, and then asked, "How did you find us?"

"You don't remember anything?"

Mikey blushed and then shook his head. Not anything of their rescue, anyway.

Skye very briefly explained, leaving out the facts that Missile Kid was dead and Battery City no longer existed. She didn't exactly believe it would help him remain calm, which had been her instructions to assure were carried out if any of them awoke.

Mikey almost didn't believe it was possible, to finally be out of the building. But he was incredibly grateful, more so than he had ever been in his entire life, and he nodded. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Almost three days," Skye replied, and he flinched, startled.

She smiled sweetly. "It's okay. You needed the rest. You all did."

Mikey paused for a moment. He still had so many questions, but was trying to somehow pick out the ones he wanted to know immediately. "Where's everyone else?"

"Outside; trying to plan what we're gonna do. We didn't want to bother you all by doing it in here."

He glanced behind her, his eyes landing on the cans of food towards the back—or front—of it. His stomach growled loudly at once, and he bit his lip.

Skye had to have either heard it or known where his gaze went, because almost at once she asked, "You hungry?"

Mikey looked at her like she was utterly crazy and then seemed to realize it, widening his eyes and awkwardly averting his gaze. "Sorry—yeah, I am."

Skye shook her head. "My fault. Pretty stupid question, huh?" She stood up and then pointed at him as he attempted to try and do the same. "Wait; Dr. D gave me something for you and Jet…"

_Jet…what happened to him?_

She came back a moment later, holding crutches, and he stared at them, wondering how on earth the man seemed to always either have what they needed or know how to make it.

He took them, allowing her to help him stand, and then carefully followed her past the three to the other side of the warehouse, where several of the Killjoys had brilliantly overturned one of the larger, empty containers Dr. D had had in the back of his van, creating a makeshift yet usable table. Around it were five stools they had found in the warehouse itself, and Skye gestured at one of them.

Mikey almost smiled, taking one of the seats and then glancing back at the three again, worried. He couldn't help it. As far as he could recall, besides Gerard, he had been the worst off, and yet he was the first up out of all of them. He couldn't be sure what that meant, hoping that Skye would tell him if anything was seriously wrong with any of them.

She didn't say anything, however, smiling as she gave him one of the cans she'd gotten open with a can-opener Rainbow had had in the back of her car, along with a spoon, and he said, "Thank you," for what must have been the tenth time, still meaning it genuinely.

She nodded and then frowned as there was a soft groan from one of the others, turning and walking over to them as Mikey quickly ate the food, not even noticing that, unlike all the times before, he didn't mind the taste in the least.

"Hey,"

Mikey looked up finally and smiled at Ray, who was limping towards him with another pair of crutches.

"Hi," Mikey replied, watching him as he sat next to him, glancing at his leg. "You okay?"

Ray winced. "Yeah. You?"

The blonde nodded, and Skye then offered Ray the same tablets, which he glanced at and then gratefully took without question.

"What happened?" he finally muttered, and Skye sighed, beginning to once again explain quickly.

And this time, when she was finished, she wasn't asked where the others were; she was asked where Missile Kid was.

At once, Skye froze. Her voice wouldn't work even as she struggled, and after a moment or two of watching her uncomfortably try to talk, they understood.

"Oh God…" Mikey mumbled, closing his eyes, and Ray shook his head like he didn't believe it. "No," he said quietly, although it was clear he was very aware Skye wasn't being dishonest.

At last, Skye was able to speak again. "I'm sorry."

Mikey blinked away tears, shifting. "She saved us."

Skye bit her lip. "There was nothing we could have done."

Ray looked away from them both. That was one event he was all right with neither witnessing nor remembering anything of.

Skye averted her gaze as well and then pointed at the door. "I'm gonna…I'm gonna go check on what the others are doing, okay? I'll be right back."

She turned without waiting for a reply and then quietly walked out.

After a very long moment of silence, Mikey looked at Ray, shakily murmuring, "Thank you."

The older Killjoy blinked groggily at him as if he were confused. "What?"

"For, y'know…for helping me back there."

Ray gave a small, very sad smile. "I told you I wouldn't let you die."

Mikey at once blushed, so noticeably that Ray stared at him. "…What?" His voice was uncertain and concerned—he'd never seen the younger Killjoy seem so embarrassed.

The twenty-one-year-old did not respond for almost a full half minute, still pained by the news they'd been giving, and he shook his head. "Nothing."

Then, after another uncomfortable minute or so, he finally had to know, and he whispered, "Did…d-did you mean it?"

"Mean…that I would make sure you were okay? Yeah, of course."

Mikey shook his head. "Not that."

Ray then paled, turning his head a bit without breaking eye-contact. "No, you—you were—"

"I, um—I love you, too." Mikey blurted without thinking, stiffening and awaiting Ray to tell him something like he _hadn't _meant it, but the Killjoy did no such thing. Instead, his lips parted in a very small grin, something he had been almost positive he would never feel like doing again, and he reached out to take Mikey's hand. "…I did."

Mikey impossibly turned even redder. "Really?"

Ray glanced at the beautiful smile that was very shyly appearing on his face, and then he leaned towards him, pulling him gently by his hand until their lips met.

At once, Mikey relaxed and practically melted into his arms, snapping out of his surprised state after a second and returning the kiss.

He remained almost frozen even after Ray had moved back to breathe, and at last he opened his eyes to see the older Killjoy weakly smiling.

"_Really._"

* * *

><p>It wasn't until that afternoon that either of the others stirred. Everyone else was outside, even Ray and Mikey, leaving the place eerily silent when Frank awoke. It frightened him almost as much as the fact that he didn't know where he was did, and, for a moment, he believed he was still in the building, then remembering everything that had happened afterwards.<p>

He sat up quickly, wincing at the dull ache that came from doing so, and then looked around, forgetting all thoughts as his eyes landed on his unconscious boyfriend lying beside him. "Gee…"

Disregarding the protests his body gave of moving so soon and not thinking about how it would probably be better to leave him alone to sleep, Frank crawled over to him and sat again, gently grabbing him and bringing him into his arms. "God, Gerard…" he whimpered, unsure why he suddenly wanted to cry. Maybe it was the fact he finally _could_ hold the red head without having the possibility of being yanked away from each other, or being liable to be tortured and worse at any moment. Whatever the reason, he had never felt more relieved. "Gee, I love you," he whispered. "I love you so much…"

Gerard moaned quietly, frowning, and then turned his head, his eyelashes fluttering slightly.

Frank kissed his cheek, and then his boyfriend mumbled incoherently before Frank made out his name. "I'm here, baby," he said, kissing him twice more. "It's okay, we're safe."

For a long moment, Gerard was still, and Frank almost believed he'd gone back to sleep, but then the twenty-four-year-old found Frank's hand, gently squeezing it, blinking hard, his hazel eyes nearly emerald in the light as he looked up at Frank, who quite honestly felt his heart skip a beat in both longing and love.

"Frankie," Gerard began, his voice cracking, and then Frank noticed his expression had grown a bit scared.

"Gee, it's okay," Frank repeated soothingly, reaching down to stroke the hair out of his face. "It's okay…"

Gerard took a deep breath and then sat up with a wince, rubbing his eyes as Frank released him, looking a bit ashamed. "Sorry."

Frank leaned a bit sideways to see his face, giving a little smile, and Gerard looked at him for only a second before he gripped the other Killjoy's shirt, pulling him in to kiss him solely because of the fact that he _could_, stopping a moment later. "Are you okay?" he asked, pressing his forehead to Frank's.

"I'm fucking hungry," Frank answered truthfully, opening his eyes halfway, and Gerard nodded his agreement, all at once looking around and frowning as he did not recognize where they were, turning again to Frank, who shrugged.

The door of the warehouse then opened, and instantly someone shouted, "Gee!"

"Mikey?" Gerard murmured, eyes widening as he saw his younger brother making his way towards them, wishing he could go faster than the crutches would allow.

Gerard let out a strained laughed as Mikey released the things and dropped to his knees, throwing himself at the red head, thrilled, not noticing how tense Gerard got from his touch. "Oh my God…I'm so happy you're—I mean, I knew you weren't _dead, _but—" the blonde shook his head. "I'm so glad you're awake!"

His eyes went to Frank, releasing his brother to hug him too. "And you…I didn't know if you guys would be up yet…"

Gerard eyed him. "Where's Ray?"

Mikey pulled back and opened his mouth to answer, instead giving a grunt of pain from the position he was in, clenching his hands and trying to prevent a whimper, eyes screwed shut.

"Mikes," Gerard frowned worriedly, carefully getting to his feet and then helping Mikey to his. Frank handed up his crutches, and the blonde sighed, grateful. "Thanks. And he's outside with the others."

Gerard took Frank's hand as he got up, and then finally noticed his brother had different clothes on, the dirt that had previously smudged this face gone.

Mikey understood his gaze. "There's enough water to get clean…and DJ found clothes a while back."

Gerard truthfully didn't know if he could have been given better news, and he glanced at Frank, who was clearly thinking the same thing. Then he shifted uncomfortably. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn't _feel_ relieved at all, even though he knew he was and should have been. All he felt was…nothing. Thinking about it only resulted in more disorientation that he did _not _need, however, and so he looked back at his brother, biting his lip. "…Where?"

"For that? Outside…behind the cars. There's still enough water out there from what we used."

The red head forced a grateful smile, and then Mikey gestured to the door. "I can get the other clothes for you…"

"I…"

"Or are you hungry?"

They both nodded simultaneously, and as he went off to lead them to the 'table', Frank winced and put an arm around his stomach, a pang of hunger shooting through it. Had he really not eaten for an entire week? Not that it felt shorter, but he honestly believed that meant he should have died days ago. They were always hungry, never able to find more than a small amount of food, and so hadn't been in the best position for being refused any at all.

The two of them scarfed down what they were given, pleased they were no longer starving as they finished and regaining a bit of their energy back, and then got up to follow Mikey out of the place.

"Hey! Party! Ghoul!"

Frank tightened his grip on Gerard's hand without realizing it, and his boyfriend squeezed back comfortingly.

Show Pony had been the one to call them, also the first to rush over to them, grinning. "Feel any better?"

"Yeah, actually," Frank murmured, and Gerard nodded.

"You should be," Dr. Death Defying said, approaching them in his scooter. "It's been almost three days for all of you."

Both of them widened their eyes a bit, just as surprised as the others had been, and then they gave little smiles as Ray limped up to them, also on crutches. "Glad to see you're okay," he said.

"You too," Gerard replied softly. "How's your leg?"

Ray winced. "Better than it was, I guess. I've been taking painkillers though…and I really don't want to feel it when I don't."

Mikey very subtly nudged the older Killjoy with his shoulder as he returned, holding out clothes for both of them.

Gerard slowly took them and again murmured, "Where?"

The blonde gestured to behind the warehouse, which had the cars bunched together, and then shrugged. "Not _really _private, but it works."

Frank hesitated. _God _was he ever desperate to finally get clean again, and he knew Gerard was as well, finally following the red head as he set off to the cars, still unsure as he caught up to him, though he didn't speak until the two of them were stiffly standing behind one of the vans, uncomfortable, their eyes on the ground.

"Um," Frank began, and Gerard turned around, very quickly lifting his shirt over his head, wincing a bit, and then stopped, his hands on the sides of his jeans. _Can't…_

He shook his head, trying to muster up all the will power he had to continue, and then felt his eyes begin to sting. He just _couldn't. _He had never had a problem undressing in front of anyone, mostly because it had only ever been the four of them, and _certainly _had never been squeamish when it came to Frank. But he simply couldn't bring himself to do it now, realizing how weak it was and yet having no idea how to get rid of the fear.

"I'm sorry…"

Gerard turned around to see his love hadn't even gotten as far as he had, on the verge of tears. "God, Frank, it wasn't your fault…"

Frank averted his gaze and Gerard bit his lip, walking over to him and gently embracing him. "_I'm _sorry. I'm so fucking sorry anything ever happened."

The younger Killjoy vaguely trembled. "I don't…I feel…_disgusting_."

"So do I." Gerard at last admitted, pulling back to look at him seriously, glancing at the water container briefly and then gently gripping his boyfriend's shirt. "Can I just…?"

Frank nodded without looking up, and the red head slowly began pulling it over his head, watching his reaction to be sure it wasn't frightening him. "Holy shit, Frank…"

Frank flinched as Gerard dropped his shirt, his eyes on the awful bruise that took up nearly his entire side, and he pathetically tried covering it with an arm. "It's nothing," he mumbled softly, awkwardly glancing up at him.

Gerard let out a sharp breath of disbelief and nearly said something else, but Frank leaned forward and kissed him before he could. Gerard tensed in surprise and then returned it longingly, hooking his leg around the shorter boy's.

Breaking away to breathe, Frank's expression had lost all but the slightest trace of discomfort, and, still uneasy, he managed to slip off his jeans before he lost the bit of confidence the kiss had provided.

Gerard hesitated, and Frank blushed terribly, turning around and kneeling to get to the water, feeling humiliation edging at him, so overwhelming he almost felt like crying again, until Gerard followed what he had done, also getting to his knees beside his boyfriend, his cheeks bright red.

Frank looked at him and gave a weak smile, something that Gerard returned after a few moments and then did not raise his head again, focusing on nothing but getting clean.

The one time Frank glanced over at him, he almost wished he hadn't. The red stains on Gerard's arms and the backs of his legs were long gone, as were Frank's, but the red head continued to rub at the spots desperately, until they were raw and bright for a different reason. His expression was troubled and confused and most of all angry, and after a moment, Frank reached out to touch his wrist. "Gee, stop."

Gerard shook his head and ignored the request.

"_Stop._ You're hurting yourself." Frank said, and was again disregarded. In fact, he could've sworn Gerard's efforts only became more frantic. Finally, he scowled and grabbed his boyfriend's hand, eliciting a surprised cry from him. "It's gone, Gerard."

"It's not!" Gerard moaned, smacking his fingers away. "It's not, and it never will be."

Frank swallowed hard, watching him tremble and lower his head in shame, and then he risked being lashed out at again to lean forward, hold his arms out, and cautiously wrap them around the older's shaking, pale body. Truthfully, he felt the same way, that he would never be clean enough after what had happened, but he didn't want to, and more importantly, he didn't want Gerard to _know _he did. He wanted to comfort him and tell him how okay it was going to be and really feel that way himself, instead.

Gerard didn't respond to the touch, but he didn't protest, either, allowing Frank to embrace him until his tears ceased and he was able to breathe normally again.

"It's okay," Frank murmured finally, and though Gerard knew it was anything but, he nodded and pulled away, struggling to focus enough he could finish.

And at long last, nearly twenty minutes later, the two had accomplished their goal, no longer caked in dirt, grime, and...whatever else they had been for what seemed like forever. The clothes they'd been given fit nicely—a bit looser than they were used to, but with all the bruises and abrasions still covering them, it was a relief. They weren't very colorful, but they weren't black and white; and after seeing nothing but such for days, the change was a welcome one. Though…if they ever managed to wash their outfits, he'd, of course, gladly take them back.

Lethal Rejection looked up from a table they'd set up in the back as they emerged from behind the cars. "Damn. You look almost new. Feeling better?"

"Much," Gerard murmured tiredly, and Frank nodded before noticing her smile falter. "Are you?"

Rejection lowered her gaze to the papers she was holding again. "I'm getting there, yeah."

Gerard bit his lip as he understood. "I'm so sorry."

Rejection smiled just a bit without looking up. "Me too."

Frank suddenly grabbed his boyfriend's arm, frowning.

"You okay?" the red head asked, concerned, and Frank took a shaky breath. "Dizzy." He blinked hard and then stiffened, abruptly looking like was going to faint. "_Really _dizzy."

Gerard eyed the healing gash on his head and then put an arm around his waist to support him, turning back towards the warehouse.

Once inside, he lowered Frank onto one of the stools, closely looking him over and grabbing the water bottle off the table, handing it to him. "What'd Dr. D tell you?"

Frank took a moment to respond, slowly taking a drink from it. "I've got a concussion."

"_Frank_…"

"It's not bad 'r anything," he insisted, raising his head to smile slightly at him. "You're who I'm worried about."

Gerard glanced away. "You shouldn't be."

"I _have_ to be! You look awful."

"Yeah? Well, I deserve it."

Frank flinched. "_What?_"

"Everything that happened was my fault."

"Gerard—"

"Don't start," Gerard cut him off, his voice very quiet. "_Everything._"

"That's not true!" Frank protested, frowning. "You couldn't have stopped us from getting captured!"

"I—"

"No! End of story! There was _nothing _you could've done!"

Gerard shook his head. "I could've kept quiet."

The younger Killjoy stared at him, confused. "What?"

The red head stared at a spot over Frank's shoulder, feeling out at the wall behind him with a finger like he was checking it was really there in case he needed its support. "They died, Frank. Because of me."

"They came because _they _wanted to, and—"

"Not just them." Gerard murmured.

Frank was still lost. "Then who?"

"Three Killjoys…they didn't have anything to do with what was going on, and if I hadn't known them…"

"It wasn't you who killed them, Gerard."

The red head flinched, pressing himself against the wall. "_Yes it was._" he whispered.

Frank tilted his head. "What're you—"

"I fucking killed them, Frank! Korse put the gun in my fucking hand, and I couldn't—couldn't pull away, or—"

Trying to comfort him as he sputtered, Frank murmured, "Then it wasn't _you. _You didn't do anything."

Gerard slid to the ground, able to see the terrified face of Star Dust vividly in his mind. "_Exactly. _I didn't. I _couldn't._" He closed his eyes, hoping to make the image go away, but it remained. "What kind of _leader _wouldn't fight?"

"No, Gerard," Frank stood and then kneeled beside him, taking his hand. "Please stop. You didn't know!"

"Didn't know?" Gerard laughed miserably. "I'm the one who told the bastard where they were."

Frank was silent for a moment, and then he reached up to wipe a tear off his cheek. "Stop it, Gerard. Stop crying. It wasn't your fault."

Suddenly irritated as Gerard didn't acknowledge he'd heard, Frank scowled, pushing him back with an accidentally strong shove. The red head exclaimed, his eyes shooting open, looking up at him in fear.

"Listen," Frank said. "Stop blaming yourself. You're _crying, _Gerard—about something you couldn't have done anything to stop! Where the fuck is the guy who'd never do this? Where's Party Poison, huh?"

The older boy's reply was hardly audible, his gaze lowered in shame. "I wish I knew."

Frank feigned a chuckle. "So that's it? You're just giving up? _Why?_"

Gerard didn't answer. _Because I'm weak. I wasn't strong enough to help Missile, or you, or anyone else, and I'm sure as hell not strong enough to lead anyone._

"I know what he did, Gerard." Frank continued slowly. "I fucking watched it happened. He did it to me, too!"

"And I couldn't stop him."

"Neither could I! I was tied up and you—you were fucking _drugged, _Gerard! Remember? It wasn't a choice that we couldn't!"

Gerard shook his head, and Frank put a hand on his cheek. "Please. Don't ever think that was your fault. Please."

The twenty-four-year-old was unable to prevent the tears from starting to flow down his face again, and Frank sat beside him, wrapping his arms around him like he had in the room before. "_Please_. I can't see you like this."

Gerard trembled and nodded. "Sorry…"

"Just please…please don't tell me you blame yourself again, okay?" He pressed his head to Gerard's shoulder, biting his lip. "Promise me?"

The red head closed his eyes wearily, forcing his voice to work, choking out a very weak, "Okay, Frankie."

_I won't tell you._


	13. The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday

**A/N: ****Chapter title is from the song We Are One by 12 Stones. **

Chapter Thirteen 

The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday

Three days were everything out in the Zones.

It was three days of rest if there happened to have been a fight; it was three days more that the Killjoys could use to be attempting to plan how they would finally take down BLI. Most importantly, it was seventy-two hours more that they were still alive, still breathing, still rebelling. Nearly all of them had been living out of the city since BLI had brusquely decided to turn the once free place into the unwilling victim of a dictatorship, or otherwise had managed to escape sometime in the following two years. Not many had come after, when they'd put a wall up around the place; whether it was to keep them out or keep the citizens in, it was doing a damn good job at both. And they all had come to realize at one point or another that they had taken advantage of time in their old lives. It takes seconds to remind a loved one just how much you care for them. Mere minutes to give them an embrace, show them you're still there. Hours that could have used to spend time with families, whom some would never see again, had instead been wasted on video games and television. _Days _once used to be outside and with friends, enjoying life, were instead wasted inside because technology was just _that fucking important._

But all that had disappeared with BLI took over. There was no more television, unless you counted the awful, brainwashing cartoons that kids had to exchange their old programs for, watching them because they didn't know better. Video games took weeks to be illegalized. Curfews at times when it was still daylight were set; laws to limit lives were enforced; medication to erase emotions was mandatory. And once the ones who could, and were willing to, escaped and looked back on those mistakes...it was the only thing they wished they could change. They _wanted _to go back, knowing they couldn't and therefore only needing it more. No one took advantage of time anymore, because in the danger they were constantly in, they'd learned. Learned that at any moment, they could be shot. Ended. _Ghosted. _That was what they called being killed out here. The only thing that remained of you after you were gone was a shadow never seen, a whisper of memories, a letter in the mailbox shrine or small messages on the sides of it scribbled with virtually inkless markers. Your name was your everything; it was what kept you alive long after you no longer were, when you were merely a ghost of what had once been. Your name and the love that was attached to it by friends and even family, if they'd come with you.

Maybe that was the worst part. All of them had made a choice, and no matter how many of them pushed it off as easy, that wasn't true. For reasons they couldn't understand, adults were the ones who had been affected most by the medication. They had been the ones to agree, to go along with everything they were told without asking. It was the teenagers, the younger adults who had seen what was wrong with BLI and decided to try and do something about it, resulting in the question of just how far they were willing to go to do what was right. It was a hard decision to make to leave their parents, their siblings, their friends, all the while being aware that it would most likely be the last time they saw any of them. Even if _they_ lived, there was the possibility it would be the Killjoy who died. And the fact that all of their families now were gone, that, even if they ever defeated BLI once and for all, they would never see them again...that was something all of them had to live with. Arrogance stemmed from the hurt it had caused, and they'd created the lies that it hadn't affected them too much, that they were okay.

_Lies. _

That's all they were. Everything in the Zones was a lie. Even time, practically. It passed by without a thought or care, and, honestly was never enough, especially after battles. All of them were so used to having only a very short time to rest because of the need to leave, either to avoid further conflict or simply because they couldn't stay where they were, sprawled out on the hot desert under a burning star that could quite literally turn them into the same golden-colored sand they were trying to regain their breath on. They always needed more time than what they had to recover and yet constantly had to deny it in order to stay alive. You had to keep moving, keep running, no matter how worn out you became. If you stopped running, you were giving up, and giving up meant you were as good as dead. If not anything else, the Killjoys had learned _that._

Although this was one instance they had hoped they would get longer than usual—much longer. The group was still wounded, far deeper than what could be seen, some of them worse than others. The two who's legs were injured would obviously have to continue using crutches for quite a while, but the cuts and bruises littering their bodies were slowly healing. The dizziness previously plaguing the youngest of the four had stopped, along with both his and the red head's limps due to the obvious discomfort walking had been bringing them, from what they had all assumed was bruising. Their health hadn't been fully restored, though. Not physically, but more notable, not mentally. They had changed, and while not even Dr. D could quite pinpoint what was different, it was something, and while all of their attitudes slightly differed from what they had been, most evident were Party Poison and Fun Ghoul. They seemed weaker, vulnerable even, and yet none of them were sure whether to be concerned or simply wait for it all to blow over. They had, after all, spent almost five days in the hands of BLI, subject to anything and everything. And no matter how much they all refused to speak anything about what had happened, it wasn't hard to tell they'd been tortured, at least to some extent. That was only validated every time they looked at the injuries they had sustained. The bruises, the limping, and what had confirmed it for Dr. D had been Poison's left arm, which he had initially been favoring so obviously that the man had taken a look at it the first day he'd been awake.

"I'm fine," the red head had attempted to convince him, only getting a doubtful glance from the man as he gently grasped his wrist, comically murmuring, "I'm the doctor here, remember?"

Gerard trembled slightly and didn't laugh as the man turned the underside of his arm up, wincing in discomfort, and after only a moment Dr. D looked at him in utmost seriousness. "Do you know what it was?"

"No." Gerard replied breathlessly, as if someone had punched him. It still baffled him how the man could tell with only a glimpse what was wrong. Not that it was difficult to miss the discoloration around the red dot just above his vein, or the dark black-and-blue rings around his wrists from fighting against the ropes, which gained Dr. D's attention next. "But it hurt like hell."

Dr. D sympathetically nodded, then frowned, at once realizing the quiet words had almost been whimpered, glancing up once more and catching an absolutely grief-stricken expression on the younger's battered face before he straightened up and blinked hard several times to erase all traces of it.

"Does it still hurt?"

"Yes." he mumbled, barely audible, and then shook his head as the man asked him to repeat himself. "No, not enough that I need something for it. Thanks."

He then got up without another word and went off, his head towards the ground, and Dr. D watched him succeed in walking normally until he was mere feet from the warehouse, breaking into a limp just before he disappeared into it, briefly wondered if he should have checked his ankles, too. Then he turned as Skye walked up beside him, asking if he'd noticed anything wrong.

"They injected him with something," he replied, his voice no louder than a whisper so only she heard, despite no one else being close. "I don't know what with, but...if it needed worryin' I think it would hurt a lot more than it does."

"How do you know he's not acting?" Skye questioned out of complete curiosity. They all were aware of the lengths many of them would go to continue on even if they were in pain, specifically for the reason of _not _wanting to be worried over.

"He is. Just not about that." the man added after a brief pause.

Skye frowned at him. "What?"

"I'm just damn glad that navigation instinct you've got somewhere in ya took us to shelter. We probably would've never found it with me leadin'." Dr. D shook his head and leaned back in his scooter, trying to be a bit humorous and more than anything to get off the subject. Skye picked up on the hints and nodded, smiling slightly. "At least I managed to help at something," she said, sighing softly and then leaving the man alone, of course not noticing that the tiny grin the man had had disappeared the second she turned. Whatever had happened to them, it was clear that even Dr. D was unsure. And even if he was, she had no business in knowing. The only thing she _did _know, that being that Missile Kid had died in the red head's arms, was already too much for her, and she hadn't even been witness. It, so far, had only been three days for them to rest; their fearful actions were to be expected. The ones who had lost someone and even those who hadn't were hurt, too. Battery City was gone, destroyed, and they'd been forced to flee. It was enough for them to suddenly realize that the entire time they had been in the Zones, they had been waiting for their own deaths. Everything they had done, every time they'd tried to assure the city was safe, and every moment they had dreamed of freeing it again—it'd all been for nothing. It had been doomed from the start.

It was also enough that they were no longer content with hiding in the warehouse. Yes, they were all still hurting—that was no secret. But they couldn't stay forever, anyway, and, instead of waiting to run out of food, they had begun planning on how to resolve the issue themselves.

"We're going _towards _BLI?" Fire Bullet had exclaimed after hearing their final decision, dumbfounded. It'd been three days and _that's _the great idea they'd come up with? To go on a hunt for a city that could have been a week's drive away?

"I don't think we have much of a choice," Rejection tried to explain, but Fire shook his head. "Why the fuck would we want to go_ try_ and get killed?"

"You can stay here," Moon piped up, shrugging. "And when you run outta food, which shouldn't be too long from now, catch up."

Fire rolled his eyes despite understanding perfectly well. He had never been one to shut his mouth when he needed to. "You should really find a leader who's good at it," he muttered, giving Rejection a glare.

"I'm not the leader here," Rejection murmured, and he snorted, looking off to the side for a moment, where Gerard was silently leaning against the side of the warehouse as several of the others discussed something, his arms crossed and his head slightly lowered. "Yeah?" He focused on her again and leaned a bit closer, as if to accentuate his next words. "Well neither is he."

"He's more a leader than you could ever hope to be," she rejoined, irritated at his remark, and instead of answering, he raised his eyebrows like it'd been a challenge and turned, walking towards the group. "Wait, Bullet—"

The younger ignored her, sauntering up to Gerard, who blinked at him, his lips parting in the beginning of a greeting.

"So we're gonna find the city, huh?" Bullet asked casually before he could say anything, glancing at the others, who had stopped speaking and were now looking at him, already wary of his intentions, as most of them had known him for a while now. Even the ones who had just been around him for the past days knew how he was.

"Yes," Gerard replied uncertainly, and Bullet nodded, choosing his response carefully. "Was that your idea?"

"...It was all of ours."

"Yeah, okay. All of us want to go back." He nodded again, though it was mockingly now. "How're you planning on _not _getting us killed?"

"Bullet," Rejection finally cut in as she stepped beside him, frowning, and again was ignored.

Gerard frowned, unwittingly stepping into the trap as he stammered, "I-I...we're—"

"You don't have one, do you? A plan, like, y'know, what we're gonna do? Aren't leaders supposed to know that?" He paused. "You _are _our leader, right?"

The red head subtly flinched, and Moon grabbed Bullet's arm, turning him in the opposite direction and giving him a small shove that was hardly enough to cause him to stumble, more for getting the point across. "Knock it off."

Bullet shrugged without facing them again, though addressed Rejection as he murmured, "Still think someone couldn't do better than him?" Then he went off like nothing had happened, probably smirking, and Moon rolled her eyes, looking back at Gerard and noticing his cheeks were red, his brow slightly furrowed like he was actually contemplating what had been said. She frowned—he'd never seemed like someone who cared what anyone thought of him. Nevertheless she said, "Don't listen to him. I really thought he'd have grown up by now."

"Yeah," was all she got in reply, and then he averted his gaze and straightened up, going off and turning behind the corner of the warehouse, and then was out of sight.

"Party," Rejection tried, but he didn't come back, and she sighed in irritation, glancing back at Bullet, who was talking to some of the younger Killjoys now. Moon smiled a bit, her anger clear, and gently nudged her as she passed. "He'll be fine." She hesitated a moment. "Bullet, too."

"Yeah," Rejection finally replied, her eyes remaining on the sixteen-year-old. He was still young and conceited; his insults hadn't exactly been a surprise. But it was how much he resembled her brother that had gotten to her. They both always had to be right, and got angry when they weren't. She remembered that at one point, her younger sibling had even lost a few friends of his in a fight that he had caused, all over a ridiculous concern of who was 'right' or 'wrong.'

_He'll learn,_ she thought. _He'll learn just like Blade would've._

And it pained her to feel like, though she knew it was far from her fault, she hadn't helped as much as she'd have liked to prevent him from just becoming another _would _have.

Three of the younger, more hyperactive Killjoys had, out of complete boredom, gone off on foot later that day to finally explore the area; armed, of course, in case they ran into anyone or anything dangerous, though it was doubtful they would. Three days was long enough that the initial threat—or, perceived threat—of being tracked down and taken out by BLI had become ignored by all of them. They were taking the time that they had now; any moment they weren't under attack they were grateful of.

"You know," Chaotic Cat began after a while of walking, "maybe we should have _told _someone we were going off…"

Electrical Wire rolled his eyes, glancing back at her and then Rock Note a bit further back. "They wouldn't have let us go!"

"Maybe that would've been better."

"Stop worrying," Note murmured kindly, catching up to them. "We're not in any danger."

"You don't know that!" Cat protested, twisting her shoulder-length pink hair around her fingers nervously.

"Yeah, I do. Trust me, Wire would never risk not coming back to his future wife."

"Can you _not?_" Wire shot back almost before the sentence had left Note's lips, his cheeks reddening. He had never told _anyone _about his crush on Rejection, which meant it had to be painfully obvious from time to time, and that scared him. Not only did he not want Rejection herself knowing about it, as he had a strong friendship with her that he didn't want to end, but he didn't want anyone else to be aware of it, either. It _may _have been the millionth time he'd stared at her eyes, her lips, her perfect body that had given it away. Or maybe the fact that he blushed whenever she spoke to him, even spoke _towards _him, or maybe even—something he desperately hoped had never been too noticeable—the truth that, whenever he awkwardly tried to isolate himself from her, it was to get his mind off the thoughts uncontrollably exciting him. It wasn't his fault, however, and he knew that. He was sixteen-years-old, a boy, and couldn't help but become interested in someone. They had been living in the desert for a good part of their lives by now, and no matter how much each and every one of them tried to ignore it, thoughts that roused a part of them purposely suppressed always found a way to overtake them at one point or another. Nothing could be acted on, of course, especially now, and that was half of the reason why it was both embarrassing and something no one ever talked about. And anyway, Rejection had lost her _brother,_ a person she clearly would be mourning for a long while, and then here he was, struggling to resist the urge to fantasize about her. He was aware he couldn't blame himself for it, and that at least _some _of the others who weren't already in a relationship had to have been feeling the same way about someone, but nonetheless felt terribly guilty.

However Note had figured it out, it irritated him, and, although he wasn't too talkative, Wire still believed he would find a way to accidentally speak about it, which was something he had been dreading happening since he'd started the subtle teasing. Note was always trying to be funny about it, but it came across as anything but. "You're so annoying," he continued, wishing he knew who the other had a crush on in order to taunt him, too, and then glanced at Cat. "We're _fine._"

"But—"

"Don't have a panic attack," Wire told her sarcastically as she began sputtering possible scenarios of dangerous situations, and she cut off with an offended whimper. They all knew the fifteen-year-old had fairly bad anxiety, even crippling at times. She'd never been properly treated for it, mostly because her parents hadn't had the money to afford medication, and though she had been occasionally seeing a therapist to stifle the panic she almost continuously felt about most things, there was no more of those appointments here. Now she only had the memories of the skills she'd been taught of how to help herself, and though she did try, it never completely worked as well as she would have liked. It had not only prevented her from functioning properly during fights before, but had also caused her to develop a continuous fear of being killed or placed in harm's way; it was even more so than the others, and now, with what they'd witnessed—the destruction of Battery City and all—it couldn't have been easy for her to control it, which was what she was normally fairly well at succeeding at.

And it _really_ had never been something she appreciated anyone taunting her about.

She automatically quickened her pace and reached out to shove Wire. "Jerk!"

Wire turned to her as he regained his balance, frowning at first and then sighing, contrite. "Sorry, okay? I didn't mean it."

Cat's eyes watered and she looked away. "If I _knew _how to not have them, I_ wouldn't_."

Note eyed Wire with a silent message he understood instantly.

_Feel better after that?_

Wire bit his lip and reached out to put a hand on Cat's shoulder. "I really didn't mean it. I know it's not your fault." He hesitated and then added, "Do you wanna go back?"

"I…don't know," Cat sniffed, aware that she would be forcing them to come with her if she said yes. She never wanted to agree or disagree with anything if it upset someone else, because it would only leave her with the guilt she unnecessarily felt about too many things already.

Reluctantly, Wire released her and gestured the way camp was. "There's nothing out here, anyway. Let's go."

Note gave him a little respective nod and set off, while Cat only remained frozen, her mouth agape.

Wire frowned. "What is it?" he asked, turning to see where her gaze was fixed on, and then gasped.

Two figures were slowly walking towards them, quite far away still and yet close enough they could see they were _thankfully _not Dracs as they were used to.

Even so, the moment Note turned back around, his ray gun was in his hands.

"I thought there wasn't a city around!" Cat murmured, and Wire frowned, hardly hearing her words. "I think they're hurt."

Note lowered his weapon a bit, squinting at whoever it was, able to tell now that they were limping.

And then one of them fell, the other dropping to their knees and bending over them immediately.

"Shit," Wire muttered, taking off, slowing down when he was close enough to see the girl who hadn't collapsed was terrified, her wide eyes on him.

"It's okay, we won't hurt you." Wire said soothingly, holding his hands out as he approached.

The girl was fairly young, maybe eleven, and she was dressed completely in black, as was the older girl, whose breaths were coming in gasps. Wire kneeled beside her, placing a hand on her cheek. She was very hot, though he didn't believe for a moment it was because she was sick. She was in _black, _in a _desert—_what the hell had they been thinking? It not only was the color that absorbed the most heat (which obviously was the thing you least wanted to do here) but it was also the most noticeable thing you could wear. It just didn't match in with the bright, glowing yellow and places of green-brown grass everywhere else.

"Note, help me," Wire ordered as the others came up beside him, grabbing one of the girl's limp arms.

The younger one whimpered, and Cat crouched next to her. "It's okay, we're gonna help you. We have a camp over there." She pointed and then pulled a strand of pink hair away from her crystal blue eyes. "We have food and water. Okay?"

The girl looked at her for a moment and then nodded wearily, taking Cat's hand as she held it out to her, helping her to her feet. The other two managed to lift the older, and carefully they began walking back to the warehouse.

* * *

><p>"How are they?"<p>

Dr. D looked to Wire as he came up beside him, leaning against the side of his van and regarding him curiously. They'd gotten back to camp within only ten minutes, surprising all of them both because no one had known they were gone, and, obviously, that they had two half-conscious girls with them, who Dr. D had instantly been absorbed in trying to assure were all right.

The man nodded. "They're both stable. A little dehydrated and definitely exhausted, but they'll be fine."

Wire sighed in relief. "Great."

Dr. D eyed him, almost smiling, and murmured, "Sure was a good thing you snuck off."

The young Killjoy blushed a bit and rubbed the back of his neck.

The Doc chuckled and then shook his head as the boy went off, turning his attention to the two resting girls, wondering what they'd been doing out here in the first place, then frowning at the younger one. She almost looked like…

Dr. D felt a pang of sadness and shook his head, looking away to the darkening sky. He was glad they'd at least been found before night had fallen; they might not have made it through.

"Doc?"

The man turned his scooter towards Ray, frowning as he limped over to him, noting instantly that he was very flushed. "What's wrong?"

The Killjoy blinked like he himself had forgotten. "Mi—ah, Kobra…I need a painkiller. For him, I mean."

Dr. D frowned. "What happened?"

"Ah...his foot...I accidentally hit it."

"Doing what?"

Ray's eyes darted away for a moment. "I don't know," he said at last, uncomfortable, and Dr. D raised an eyebrow, puzzled. But, he didn't ask again, searching for one of the small, single-pill packets he'd been collecting out of every first-aid kit and whatever else he could find from the moment they got out of Battery City, handing it to him. "Be more careful," he said, looking him over, a certain tone to his words that caused Ray to wonder if they had a hidden meaning. _Or I'm paranoid._ "Um, thanks," he mumbled, and then winced, turning and literally feeling the doctor intently watching him go.

He swallowed hard and went back into the warehouse, over to where Mikey was curled on the floor, holding his ankle. The place was otherwise empty, and he could easily hear the boy's ragged breathing echoing.

"Jesus, Mikes, I'm so sorry," he said, handing him the tablets and his bottle of water, cringing as Mikey made a noise that sounded like he was crying. "I didn't—"

He cut off in bewilderment as he realized Mikey was _laughing, _shaking his head and glancing up at him with a grimace. "You've never kissed before, have you?"

"I have," Ray protested weakly, frowning and helping him to sit up as he swallowed one of the pills.

"Did you _kick_ them?"

"It was an accident! I just…sorry. I got a little…"

"Excited?" Mikey was clearly amused, and Ray blushed, tensing like he wanted to get away from him at once. This whole situation was bringing back way too many awkward memories of his high school years. "Um, I'm gonna—"

"It's okay," the blonde insisted, reaching up to take his hand. He'd never felt as calm as he did right now, or more like smiling, something he rarely did. "I'm fine."

Ray smiled a bit and cleared his throat, relieved he was all right. He sat on the stool behind him and leaned his crutches against the wall, slowly leaning towards Mikey to kiss him again, noticing with a pang of guilt how he moved his foot back so that he couldn't mistakenly be hurt again, hearing him give a soft moan after a moment and then reaching down to rest a hand on the younger's waist.

While Ray had apparently just not done this in a long time, and despite his prior comment that may have made him seem like the one to know about it, Mikey was completely and utterly new to the entire concept. He'd had crushes, and he'd had_ urges_ to kiss them, but it hadn't exactly been something he was so sure he should be doing. His parents would have been accepting no matter what, and he'd known that. Society, though...his friends, his social life, even...those things he had never been willing to risk. He'd seen his brother kiss Frank before, though for the longest time had scrunched up his nose and looked away due to him being afraid that was exactly what he wanted, as well. He'd seen the ridiculing and worse they'd received, and had ignored and denied and even managed to get a girlfriend, quickly realizing that her hands on him were most definitely _not _what he wanted and ending it, along with his attempts at anyone. He'd only been thirteen, and had been more than willing to simply give up on the whole dating thing. He didn't see a point, it wasn't as amazing as everyone made it out to be. He'd get a pet when he was older, and he was convinced that was all he'd ever need.

But now, as he felt Ray's fingers on his side, there was another feeling there. Not of wanting to jerk away from the touch like he had his first and only try at this, but one that made him sigh and straighten up just so that he could be closer to who was in front of him. Hell, if he'd known anything could make his stomach flutter like it was now, he wouldn't have been so damn scared of love when he was younger. He had always felt an attraction to Ray, something that scared him after certain events that had led up to them leaving Battery (ones he certainly did not want to think about at the moment) and had always immaturely sparked up arguments with him anytime he would start to blush or picture him in a way that was anything more than a friend, and he was thrilled that was over with. _I've gotta apologize for that one day, _he thought, though was in no hurry to end what was happening here, experimentally touching his tongue to the older's to see if that was what he was supposed to do or not, relieved when either it was or Ray simply didn't mind, merely closing his eyes and cupping the back of his neck with his other hand.

"Um…"

The two jerked away from each other before they were even aware of doing so, and yet weren't quite fast enough, staring at Frank as he stood off to the side, a hand awkwardly holding his other arm, surprised.

"Y-yeah?" Ray began after a moment of silence, Mikey being too startled to speak.

Frank blinked. "Ah…have you seen Gerard?"

"Uh-uh." Mikey dazedly shook his head.

The black-haired Killjoy nodded, then continued to look at them. "When…?"

Ray gave a little shrug and then so did Frank, turning around and walking out.

It was quiet for a moment, and then they both gave an embarrassed and relieved chuckle. Not that they had expected their friend to be anything less than all right with it, but his uncaring reaction had been practically…amusing? That or unnerving; it was hard to tell these days whether a laugh was of pure uncertainty or spite, or really authentic.

"Well," Ray murmured softly, and Mikey glanced at him, wondering if he should say something. Then he instead bit his lip, looking at Ray's, and after a moment the older continued where they'd been interrupted, placing a hand on the blonde's cheek and feeling him smile against him.

It was quite possibly the only good thing that had happened to either in too long.

* * *

><p>It was already dark by the time Frank had found where his love had gone. He'd walked off a few yards from the warehouse, in a spot otherwise blocked from view by the cars, quietly sitting with his knees tucked to his chest.<p>

"Gee?" Frank began curiously, and the red head flinched. "You okay?"

"Mm, I'm great." Gerard responded softly, shifting a bit and sliding something into his pocket. He didn't move for a moment, and then his head tilted down a bit. "Frank, I..." he trailed off, hesitated, and then gave an obviously forced huff of laughter. "Hell, never mind."

Frank frowned at the despondency in his voice. "What's wrong?"

The red head shrugged and then heaved a sigh. "Nothing."

Skeptical, Frank kneeled beside him, putting a hand under his chin to lift his gaze to him, surprised when he saw his eyes were red, like he'd been crying. "Tell me."

"_Nothing._ I'm tired, that's all." Gerard moved away and stood with a wince he visibly attempted to hide.

Frank eyed him, getting to his feet as well and then taking his hand. "Are you sure?"

Gerard smiled, leaning over to kiss him, nodding when he pulled back. "Yes. I'm fine."

His cheeks red in a sudden thrill, Frank hooked his fingers around the belt loops of Gerard's pants, tugging him closer and returning the kiss.

The red head put an arm around Frank's waist, trying to feel something—love, happiness, _anything_—and then at last broke it when that didn't happen. He looked at his boyfriend and smiled to cover the tears he felt stinging his eyes. That had to go away, right? The numbness? It was just temporary...it had to be. A result of everything that had happened, a side-effect of the drug, even! He couldn't be emotionless for the rest of his life; it just wasn't possible. Or was this because of everything he'd done wrong? Maybe he deserved this because he'd allowed Frank to be—

He cut off the thought and said, "I love you." Then he shook his head, feeling as if that wasn't adequate. "I mean, I really love you. Even if...just, I love you, okay?"

"I know." Frank began, not realizing the older had actually been trying to prove to _himself_ that fact. "And I love you. Really."

"Are you okay?"

"What, from...?"

Gerard meekly nodded. He knew how much _he _hated bringing up the subject of their abuse; he didn't want to imagine how much Frank loathed it. They hadn't spoken of it since the day they'd awoke, however, and he felt the urge to make sure he was all right.

"Yeah," Frank stated after a few moments, swallowing hard and forcing a smile. "A nightmare doesn't count, does it?" He gave a short sigh that he may have tried to make a chuckle. It wasn't funny at all, though; it was nothing of the sort. He'd woken up the night before in a cold sweat, involuntarily crying loud enough Gerard had stirred next to him, having to calm him down before he woke any of the others, making him feel extremely childish and yet unable to pull away, at last falling back asleep in his arms.

Gerard's brow furrowed in worry. "It was about that?"

Frank shrugged without answering the question. "Are you?"

"Yes."

Like he'd heard the red head's following silent argument of _'hell_ _no'_ and agreed, he brought him into a hug, nestling his head into his love's chest and giving the comfort both of them needed at the moment.

"Will you come back now?"

"What?"

Frank shrugged, taking a deep breath. "You've been out here for hours."

Gerard tightened his grip. "Miss me?"

The younger scoffed mockingly. "Hell, I was wondering where your overconfidence went."

_If only I knew. _Gerard pulled back and slipped his arm around the shorter boy again, leading him back towards the warehouse.

"Yes." Frank finally murmured after a long minute of silence, and Gerard glanced at him, tilting his head a bit in a gesture to go on.

The twenty-year-old frowned like he almost didn't want to explain. The words made him feel clingy, no matter how true they were. "I missed you."

Gerard cracked a smile and paused as they reached the entrance to the place, planting a kiss on the top of his head.

"Missed you, too."

* * *

><p>"So Battery City is really gone?"<p>

Rejection gave a soft sigh for what must have been the tenth time, looking on sadly at the two in front of her. "I'm sorry."

The older girl, who'd said she was nineteen, was Bell, and the younger of twelve, was Elise. They weren't related, but Bell had made it very clear to whom had been watching her when she'd awoke that she treated her as if she were her little sister, nearly scaring Cat to death before she'd convinced them they weren't a threat. The two, according to Bell, had escaped their own city (at night, which had explained their dark clothes) to get to the now nonexistent Battery City in hopes to find somewhere not getting worse with the amount of things BLI controlled. They hadn't believed it to be such a long distance, which is why they hadn't brought food or water, and had been willing to try even so.

"All we knew," Bell had explained, "is that everyone picked up guard. _Everything _they might have looked over before, it's gone. They arrested anyone who even looked like they were doing something wrong. Whatever they're planning…_were _planning—whatever. It's big, and we really didn't want to get involved in all that shit."

"You don't have anywhere else to go?" Rainbow asked curiously, looking at them as they tried to accept the fact they now had been uselessly risking their lives. Battery was the last city they said they were aware of in the entire state of California, and possibly even the states surrounding, though they of course hadn't been since the fires. That was another way BLI kept people from wondering; they refused access or knowledge of any of the citizens to or about any other city. The only way the had come to know about Battery was from stories of a friend of hers who had non-stop talked about it when she'd asked if he'd known of any other place, probably unaware she was going to use the information to map an escape route.

Elise glanced at her, biting her lip for a moment before replying. "No. My parents are…gone."

"And mine?" Bell laughed, shaking her head. "If I ever care enough to find out one day, I'll get back to you." She gestured at Elise. "She's my family now, and I'm hers. That's all we've got left."

"I'm so sorry," Rejection said quietly, and Bell shrugged. "I haven't thought about it in a long time." She nudged Elise's shoulder. "You?"

"No." she murmured, almost incoherently, her eyes having a very far-away look in them. Then she snapped out of it and forced a smile. "No, I haven't."

Bell gave her a quick little hug with one arm and then released her as the door to the place opened, Gerard and Frank entering, instantly uncomfortable under the stares, taking a moment to notice the two unfamiliar girls in the middle of the Killjoys, looking just as surprised as them.

"Oh my God!" Elise exclaimed, jumping to her feet. "You!"

"Um—what?" Gerard questioned, and the little girl gaped at him. "You're Party Poison, aren't you?"

She held out her hands as if to say she didn't need conformation, turning and pointing at Frank, who jerked back slightly at the movement. "And you're…Fun Ghoul!"

Startled, the two only stared, and then Frank murmured, "And…who are—"

"Where're the other two?" Elise asked, her voice excited, and Ray frowned, raising the hand not on the leg of the sleeping blonde beside him in a half-wave.

Elise giggled softly, stepping closer to the two standing. "I can't believe I didn't recognize you...We've seen you before!"

Bell nodded. "Yeah. All over the place. Posters, the news—it's great!" She then smirked approvingly. "You four are exactly the example of what we're supposed to be nothing like."

"I think it's awesome," Elise said, but her grin had vanished. "Only…"

Frank frowned. "Only what?"

Bell looked directly at them, her eyes serious. "You're supposed to be dead."

Gerard tensed, very aware that was exactly what he should be right now.

"A couple days before we left," Bell continued, "we were walking to get food, and on that big screen in the main plaza—you can pretty much see it everywhere—those posters came up on it, all four of yours, and this new lady started blabbering on, and there were subtitles that said they'd finally killed you off, and for this to be an example of what happens if you go against 'em." She lifted her fingers in air quotes and lowered her voice. "'No one will rebel without the consequence of losing their life' and whatnot."

"What 'new lady'?" Ray frowned, and she shrugged. "She's Japanese, I'm pretty sure; never seen her before. But we'd never seen a lot of the people that came in a couple of days ago. Don't even know where they came from; we were leaving anyway, it didn't matter."

"Damn it," Gerard muttered, looking at first to Ray, taking a second to notice his hand _was_ in fact on the person he swore he saw him arguing with two weeks ago, and then brushed off the confusion and glanced at the others.

"What's wrong? They get new guys all the time. No one ever sees 'em get there, but still."

"Everyone—er, _most _of everyone who used to control Battery City—when they got rid of it…that's what he said they were gonna do—take everyone to a new place."

"Who's he?" Bell questioned, and he didn't give an answer for a long moment. Then at last he stammered, "K-Korse. He's who was ordered to kill all of us out in the Zones."

"He did a pretty damn thorough job, if this is how many's left over."

Gerard flinched and then frowned at her. "Who're you, anyway?" he demanded, his tone irritated.

She looked him over and then stepped over to him, holding her hand out for him to shake. "Bell." she introduced, and when Gerard did not move, she quietly cleared her throat and put her arm at her side again.

"I'm Elise!" the twelve-year-old smiled.

The red head stared at her, solemn, and then he looked away. "Hi," he whispered, feeling his eyes sting.

Frank put his arm around his love's waist, smiling slightly in a hope of comforting him, and though the older Killjoy noticed he simply lowered his gaze again.

Rejection cleared her throat, attempting to change the mood she was too aware of, but Bell cut her off before she could do more than take a breath.

"So what happened?"

As no one answered, Gerard glanced up, seeing the girl was looking directly at him, her expression unreadable. "What?"

"Well, you didn't stop him, so what happened?"

Frank tightened his grip and scowled. "I'm sorry, have you even _tried _to do anything about what's going on?" He didn't allow her time for an answer. "We did the best we could—and killed a hell of a lot of them, too!"

"Apparently not enough," Bell murmured.

"What the hell's your problem?" Ray demanded, so abruptly loud that he woke Mikey, who raised his head from his shoulder, confused at the arguing.

"That's enough," Moon growled, and Bell shrugged. "Just trying to figure out why you guys are hiding out here instead of doing something."

"We did do something!" Gerard snapped at once, angry. Who the hell did this girl think she was? "And we almost died! A lot of who we used to have _did_. Don't fucking _think_ we haven't been trying—we did try to stop them!"

"Then why aren't you_ still _trying?" Bell asked, and he took a very small step back. "If all that happened was you lost some people, then why aren't you gonna make another plan and try again?"

"It's not that simple," Rainbow tried sweetly, and Bell sighed. "Look, I know you guys got captured. It was all over—well, _everywhere._ But if you're so Goddamn good that you being killed is better than any other threat BLI can come up with, than why can't you stop whatever they're trying to do now? If you four are so powerful, than what're you doing _hiding?_"

"Fuck off!" Gerard suddenly said, and then let go of Frank so forcefully it was almost a shove, not hearing his gasp or noticing the fact he winced and then stepped back from him, holding his bandaged arm close, eyes widened in what may have been apprehension. "What've _you _done that makes you so fucking important?"

"Stop it!" Rejection ordered, standing, having had enough, and then, with the same chilling calmness she'd had the entire time, Bell replied, "I didn't let a whole city get destroyed."

The red head froze, almost literally feeling the entire weight of the world crash down on his shoulders.

"Hey!" Dr. D's voice called as he entered the warehouse along with the other older Killjoys. "Whatever's goin' on, knock it off. Now!"

Gerard glared at the girl a moment longer and then whipped around, storming past them and out of the warehouse.

Dr. D frowned in surprise and then looked to the Killjoys for an explanation.

Rejection blinked, startled by what had just occurred, and then scowled. She was sick of not being listened to by people who thought it was a hobby to piss others off. It'd happened with her mother, and she was tired of it happening with these people, the people she trusted and loved and would do anything to protect. She whirled to face the new girl, not even bothering to look at Elise, who was standing beside her still, blushing awkwardly and silent.

"Look, _Bell. _I don't know if you've ever been _with _a group before, or if you just started up with this whole rebelling thing, but if you didn't know already, we have rules. One—we don't _fight _with each other." She pointed at the girl, her voice growing louder. "Two—we aren't _complete _assholes. And three, we do _not _put blame on each other!" She feigned a smile. "Got it?"

Elise nodded in embarrassment, and then she noticed that Bell actually seemed to be a bit guilty. "Got it," she murmured, lowering her gaze.

Dr. D regarded Rejection for a moment in a mixture of awe and respect, and then he moved his attention to the girls, frowning slightly. "You got a problem with us letting you stay here?"

"No." Bell shook her head, biting her lip.

"Then act like it," he said, letting out an exasperated sigh and looking at Rainbow. "Did you find out how many days we've got enough food for?"

Rainbow immediately went solemn. "Yeah. About four, less now that there's two more. We've got plenty of water, but…it'd be a little pointless."

With another sigh, more of exhaustion this time, Dr. D nodded. "Then we'll have to leave soon. We need to have enough to take with us in case we're on the road for a while."

"It's only about a two and a half day's walk from here," Bell said, trying to be helpful like it would make up for what she'd done. "The city, I mean. It'll take shorter than that to drive."

"Thanks for the tip," Wire muttered, annoyed, and then bit his lip, shrugging. "Thanks. At least we know now."

"We're still going into the city?" Bullet piped up, eyeing the Doc, having been content watching the prior fight in perfect silence until something he cared about came up.

"We need food." the man responded. "Do you have another idea of where to get it?"

"No." Bullet answered flatly. "So we're just gonna drive in like we're _not _Killjoys?"

Bell crossed her arms, shrugging slightly. "Not that we wanna go back or anything, but…we did sneak out. I guess we can sneak back in."

Candy eyed her. "You know a way all of us can get in?"

Bell gave a small smile. "I think so, yeah."

"Great," Dr. D nodded, knowing they really didn't have any other choice but to trust 'I think so' meant 'I do.'"Then we go tomorrow."

* * *

><p>"Gerard?" Frank called again, truly beginning to believe it was better to wait for his love to come back; he'd only been looking for a few minutes, but it was obvious the red head would have spoken if he'd wanted to be found. He'd been going off by himself a lot lately, and the younger feared that, if he only continued to try and find him, he'd only continue wanting to be alone. Frank himself didn't want be away from him, but nonetheless had to respect it. He then heaved a sigh, deciding to start back towards the warehouse, and then paused as he heard a soft whimper from behind the only car he hadn't looked around. "Gee, she was just being an asshole! She didn't mean it."<p>

Frank frowned when he didn't get an answer, crossing his arms and leaning against the vehicle. "I love you," he tried. "Are you okay?"

No reply.

"Doc said we're moving out tomorrow…Bell knows a way into the city. I still don't _exactly _know how they plan on getting us all in without being caught, but we'll figure it out. Okay?" He straightened up. "Gee?"

He turned and walked around the side of it, eyeing the red head, who had an arm clutched to his chest, gripping it tightly. His head was lowered, and he shook it as Frank came closer, mumbling a very soft, "Leave me alone."

Frank didn't, kneeling next to him and tenderly running a hand through his hair. "You okay?"

Again he did not respond, and Frank eyed his arm. "Gerard...?"

He reached out quickly as he saw something red seeping through the older Killjoy's fingers, jerking his hand away despite his moan of protest, gasping in surprise at the cut on the side of his arm, concerned, pressing his own hand to it to try and stop the bleeding. "What happened?"

"I tripped…"

"Why didn't you say something, dumbass?" Frank rolled his eyes in irritation and wrapped an arm around his waist, helping him up. Gerard shook his head again but didn't fight his love as he set off towards the warehouse.

After a moment, he numbly reached into a pocket with his free hand, running his fingers along the shard of glass gently enough he wouldn't be injured, unsure if he would even notice if he was. Had he felt it just then? He couldn't remember. All he knew was that he'd been angry and upset and what he'd previously found had at last come in handy, and now he felt something—just slightly, but definitely there.

Relief.

It was the first emotion he'd had other than anger, sadness, shame, and misery since the day they'd been captured, and that only added to him wondering if he'd actually been so horrible to do it. He'd just needed to know, to be reassured he wasn't numb, or at least, not completely so.

Then he glanced at Frank as he walked alongside him, biting his lip at his love's concern and immediately repentant, though he couldn't be sure if it was for this or for the hundred other things he'd done wrong.

_Sorry. I won't anymore. Never again, I promise._


	14. Peace Of Mind Is Less Than Never

**A/N: ****Chapter title is from the song Nightmare by Avenged Sevenfold.**

Chapter Fourteen

Peace Of Mind Is Less Than Never

He hurt.

That was the only thing Frank could focus on. _Everything _hurt, and he couldn't see anything; only hear his love's voice, crying out in pain.

_Help him! Get the fuck up and _help_ him!_

He struggled to move and yet couldn't, forced to listen—to remain helpless as Gerard was uncaringly put through what he had been mere moments before.

"Frank!"

_Gee, I can't—I'm sorry—please!_

His name was shouted again, he could feel someone shaking him, and at long last he blinked his eyes open, gasping, briefly struggling against the grasp.

"Frankie, it's okay!"

The pain vanished without him noticing, and his vision cleared to see Gerard leaning over him, eyes wide.

"Gee…I'm—I-I'm sorry…"

"What?" Gerard murmured, then shook his head as he understood, grabbing his boyfriend and embracing him. "You didn't do anything."

"I—I _couldn't_…" the younger Killjoy sobbed softly, pressing his head to Gerard's chest, tears silently streaming down his cheeks. He was terribly embarrassed, and yet practically too horrified of what he'd just relived to register it. He shuddered, hating every fiber of his being as his senses returned. Why did he have to be so Goddamn weak, tearful, and most awful of all, _scared? _He was a fucking Killjoy—more than that, he was one of their leaders. No one would look up to him if he continued on like this. He knew that he'd just been through Hell and worse, and he had somewhat of a right to be afraid, but it was the fact that he was now breaking down because of a dream that really upset him. It was disreputable and pitiful and yet he was unable to stop one bit of it, clinging to the older as tight as he could in a desperate need of comfort.

"Ssh, it's okay," Gerard soothed, stroking his hair and wishing he could do more. After a minute or two, Frank pulled himself together, moving back for a moment and blushing furiously, wanting nothing more to disappear from the uncomfortable situation. Instead, he looked around, noticing the warehouse was thankfully empty except for them. "W-where is everyone?"

"Outside," Gerard replied, carefully wiping a tear from the younger's eye, frowning as he winced a bit. "I wanted to let you sleep, but…we're ready to go."

"We're leaving?" Frank mumbled, then seeing light was just beginning to stream into the warehouse through the cracks. He hadn't been able to sleep most of the night (not surprising, as the last two nights had been the same), and he shook his head briefly as he realized he'd only been woken up a few hours after he'd managed to.

"Doc said it'll be perfect timing," Gerard nodded. "We should get there when it's still dark."

Frank looked at him, tracing over his face with his eyes, and then, disregarding everything else for the moment, kissed him longingly.

"Frank—" Gerard seemed almost frightened for a second, nearly causing Frank to stop, but then he gave a little whimper and returned it, placing his hands on the younger's cheeks. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he'd felt something just then—a spark of…happiness? Joy? Or had it been merely his imagination? It'd been there, anyway, and it was enough that he truly didn't want what was happening to end. He allowed Frank to push him onto his back and bend over him, running his fingers through his red hair, reluctantly having to pull away to breathe and resting his head on Gerard's chest, hearing his slightly quickened heartbeat and sighing, unwilling to ever leave. He felt so safe at the moment, the fear from his nightmare slowly fading away in the silence. If he could sleep like this, he was more than sure he would never be bothered by the nightmares again, or at least, not as devastatingly.

Gerard moved his arms to hold him as well, immediately freezing as his hand accidentally collided a bit roughly with the younger's side, causing him to stiffen and grimace, whining softly into the clothing he had his lips to.

"Sorry," Gerard murmured, frowning, twisting a bit so he could see as he gently lifted Frank's shirt, revealing the bruise that didn't seem to have healed much at all over the past few days. He hesitated, disinclined to ask the question he already knew the answer of. "'s that from him?"

"Yeah," Frank answered quietly, his lips forming every syllable a beat slower than they would have normally. He lowered his gaze for a moment and then moved it back, almost remorseful that he'd allowed how much discomfort it was causing him show. "It's fine. Really."

Gerard gently touched a finger to his sprained arm. "And this?"

"Fine."

Gerard shook his head and then let it rest on the ground again, heaving a long breath and gently trailing his fingers up and down his love's back, returning them to the consoling soundlessness. Regrettably, he had been feeling far too miserable lately to be much help in reassuring anyone. And although he loathed himself for thinking it, it was something of a relief that Frank was feeling similar to how he was—frightened and distressed. He seemed to wrongfully share his guilt, as well, however, and that was something that only upset the red head further. Had he somehow caused Frank to have any doubt that it had been anything _but_ his fault?

He gently squeezed the twenty-year-old, trying to erase the possibilty from his mind, and though it remained, his eyes began to flutter shut, the peace he hadn't experienced in too long trying to ease him into slumber.

"Hey, guys, are you coming? We're heading out soon."

Gerard's eyes shot open at DJ's voice, and he lifted his head again to look at his love, tenderly stroking his cheek and watching as he blinked himself out of his half-asleep state and then untangled himself from him, taking his hand as he offered it. Gerard stood, helping him to do the same, and then put an arm around his waist as they walked out to join the others in silence.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Party,"<p>

Gerard heard the name yet hesitated before responding, finally blinking up at Bell as she approached him, guilt plainly displayed on her countenance.

"Yeah?" he murmured, frowning. He couldn't have cared less about what she had to say after the night before, but he kept quiet, crossing his arms and tightly pressing his still-throbbing bandaged wrist to his chest, biting his lip.

"I gotta say sorry about yesterday," she sighed, leaning against the car next to him and shaking her head. "I don't know why…I mean, I guess I was just pissed about the city, or that we almost got killed for nothing." She shrugged, and he bristled at her casualness. "I really don't know. Elise's the only person I've ever really gotten along with. Everyone else…I guess I'm just still used to fighting with everyone I talk to."

"...Your parents?"

Bell didn't move for a moment and then solemnly nodded. "They're not—they _weren't _the most supportive people." She paused, took a breath, and softly added, "I hope they got what they wanted."

Unable to help his curiosity as he calmed, Gerard asked, "What?"

The girl again waited a second, like she was uncertain how to answer. "More money than they ever had trying to take care of me." She forced a chuckle. "They'd ignore me for a day or two when I was younger to save a few dollars. When BLI came, it got better for a while, and then, even with the meds, they _still _hated me. That's when I stopped taking the pills; nothing helped anymore, so I thought, why not?

"I didn't know how great of a decision that was until I got the urge to get the fuck _out _of there. And so I did, found Elise after…" Her gaze lowered for a moment and she cleared her throat, suddenly seeming uncomfortable, but it faded. "It doesn't matter. We stick together; have since then and always will."

"How'd you guys hide?"

"Same way we're gonna do it again with you guys. Find an empty place no one would give a shit to check in and shut up." She grinned. "Luckily for you we know just the place." With another long sigh, she glanced at his unimpressive clothes. "You don't look like a Killjoy—that's good. You won't want to. Especially if any of you plan on blending in long enough to go out for supplies."

She paused, frowning. "Except maybe your hair." She watched as he unconsciously reached up to pull a cherry strand out of his face. "It won't matter if you're the one to go out or not. People can see that from a distance." She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "You'll probably want to dye it black."

Gerard looked away. The last part of him that showed he wasn't part of BLI's sick idea of living…and he'd have to get rid of it. He knew several of the other Killjoys had dyed hair as well that they would have to do the same with, but he was of course reluctant. It had been sole reason for him dying it in the first place, before BLI had banned it all—to stand out and make it clear he wasn't going to obey anything, that he _was _in fact a Killjoy. That had motivated him every time he'd broken into old, abandoned gas stations to snatch a box of bright red permanent color. They were the only places hair dye was still able to be found, for both him, Frank, and all of the others who did the same. And he hated that something that had been part of him for so long was now to be another memory.

_Just like my fucking leadership._

Bell clearly saw him fighting silently with the thought, and she shrugged. "Hey, I can't force you or anything. But I'd've thought you'd wanna fit in as much as possible after what happened."

Gerard cleared his throat, his gaze going behind her. "You find hair dye, I'll do it. It's illegal, remember?"

"Yeah? I still know where to get some."

The red head half ignored her response, giving a little grunt of acknowledgement and walking off to where Mikey was limping towards a car, giving him a little smile. "You okay?"

The blonde stopped, grinning. "Just great. How're you?"

Gerard nodded and glanced around, wincing in the harsh sunlight and wishing yet again he had his sunglasses. Where had he left them, anyway? The camp they'd made the night everything had changed? He could hardly recall feeling that the worst possibilty of the moment was Dracs catching up to them, and them having to pass up sleep to run again. It seemed so frivolous now. After going days without rest, experiencing worse exhaustion than he'd ever felt or believed he would again, he wished he could have simply driven through that night—through _two _nights, if needed. Maybe none of this would have happened if he hadn't been focusing on everything but what he really should have been, and the ones who had died would still be around.

He caught sight of Ray towards another car and then looked quickly back at his brother, wondering how to ask what he wanted to, and then the younger briefly turned, blushing terribly as he met Gerard's gaze again. "You don't care, do you...?"

Gerard raised an eyebrow, realizing it must have been fairly obvious what he'd been thinking, and he shook his head. "So...you're...? No, I don't care. Why would I?"

Mikey nodded and then bit his lip and gave a shrug, awkwardly searching for what else to say and turning redder when he found his mind was blank, something that always seemed to happen at the worst possible times. "I-I'm gonna—go." he settled with, and then swiftly made his way off towards Ray.

"You tell 'em you knew?"

Gerard glanced at Frank as he came up beside him. "I didn't have to." He then frowned, leaning to see his love's face. "Wait, _you_ knew?"

Frank pursed his lips like he was attempting to remain serious and shrugged, dipping his head a bit to let his hair fall into his eyes.

"You weren't gonna tell me, were you?"

"He's _your_ brother!"

"Exactly!"

Frank couldn't prevent a soft laugh, and Gerard smiled; it was nice to see him grinning after the incident this morning. The taller reached out, combed the younger's black hair back, and then gently kissed his cheek. He then expected him to go help get the others ready, surprised when he instead turned and embraced him tightly. Gerard returned it, resting his head on the younger's. "You okay?" he murmured softly, and Frank didn't reply for a moment. Then he pulled back, nodded almost sadly, and took a long breath, turning and heading off without a word.

Gerard watched him go with a small frown and then glimpsed back at Bell, who blinked and immediately averted her gaze, attempting to cover up how clear it was that she had been staring. He watched her a second, waiting to see if she was going to say anything, but her eyes never returned to him, and so he disregarded her, cleared his throat, and went off to assist the Killjoys as well.

* * *

><p>"Mikey,"<p>

The blonde stirred only slightly at Ray's voice, smiling a bit as he felt a soft kiss on his forehead. "Mikes, wake up."

Mikey blinked his eyes open, hardly able to see Ray leaning over him, sitting up and realizing the car had stopped. God, had he really slept the entire way? It was already night, and he could hear quiet voices speaking from outside the vehicle.

"Feeling okay?" Ray asked kindly as he winced and rubbed his temple, looking in at him from the other side, and Mikey nodded, having been unaware how tried he'd been. "Where are we?"

"A little ways from the city. We gotta go on foot from here."

Mikey opened the door, swinging his legs out and grabbing the crutches he'd had beside him, biting his lip.

Ray bent out of the other door and limped over to him, noticing he had a sudden urgency to his actions. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Mikey breathed absentmindedly, shifting uneasily and scanning where they had stopped, much more interested in finding a place he could—

"_Oh,_" Ray interrupted his thoughts like he'd been reading them, and then he gestured towards the little hill of sand in the near distance to the left of them, and Mikey went off before he could say another word.

"Jet, come here," he heard, and he turned after a moment to see Dr. D waving him over.

"Yeah?" he asked as he approached, eyeing Bell for a moment as she smiled sweetly, surprised and thrilled at her change of attitude. One or two of the others were already enough of an annoyance to them, they hadn't needed her to join them.

"How're you and Kobra gonna be to walk?" Dr. D eyed him, and he nodded. "Fine."

Bell looked him over and then turned to the Doc. "It's dark; I don't really think we'll be too noticeable. But there still might be guards, so we've gotta be quick and silent."

"You know where we're going?" Ray questioned. "For sure?"

Bell nodded without hesitation. "There's an empty building about a ten minute walk from the way we're goin' in."

"And where's that?"

"When we get there, I'll show you," she sighed, and he rolled his eyes, repositioning his crutches and going past them, noticing Cat nervously playing with her hair, standing next to Elise and in front of Candy. "I don't know if we should do this," she was murmuring. "I-I mean, I know we need food 'n stuff, b-but…we almost got killed by BLI before! Why do we have to go back?"

She shifted fearfully, and Candy sympathetically took her shaking hand. "I promise it'll be okay."

Cat raised her ice blue eyes to her girlfriend's brown ones, blinking away the tears she was fighting. "I'm scared," she whispered, and Candy gently kissed her, running a finger along her cheek. "You think I'd let anything happen to you? Really?"

Giving a little giggle, Cat shook her head and sighed. "No. I'm just…no, I don't."

"Then trust me," Candy smiled. "We'll be fine." She glanced up at Ray, and for a brief moment, her eyes showed anything but certainty. Ray almost literally took a step back at how intense her gaze was, and he saw that she was just as scared and unsure as any of them, no matter how much she always tried to be the calm and collected one. He had known somewhere in her there must have been _some _fear, but in the second it showed, it looked as if it wasn't just a fear of going back into the city; it was a sudden release of everything she'd been feeling since the fight.

She blinked and it disappeared, and he realized his mouth had been open to say something despite not knowing of anything he _could _tell her, and before he could even attempt she had turned around and led Cat off to the others again, her head once again raised high as if nothing was wrong.

"H-hey, Jet Star?"

Ray immediately turned at the small voice, seeing Elise had come up to him, her eyes widened in excitement and then embarrassment as all she could manage was, "Um…hi."

He smiled. "Hi. You okay to go back?"

"To the city?" She shrugged. "I thought we weren't ever gonna even _look _back. But I'll be fine. Anyway," she added with a grin, "we get to help you guys out. That's pretty cool."

Ray eyed her and then felt a little pang of sadness. She really did resemble Missile Kid. She was her height, somewhere around five feet, and had the same gray-colored eyes that lit up when she spoke. Even her hair matched, only a little shorter and less fluffy.

Elise frowned. "What is it?"

Ray forced a tiny smile. "Don't worry about it," he told her, and then sighed softly, glancing back as he heard someone call him and seeing Mikey, looking much less stressed, and a genuine smile then edged at his lips.

"'s that everyone?" Bell called, and Rejection, who'd been standing next to her almost the whole time, said, "Yeah. What's the plan?"

Bell smirked, watching the Killjoys gather towards her, awaiting to give orders, something she absolutely loved doing; it made her feel like she was actually powerful. "Okay," she began. "Follow me, and when we get to the wall—_through _it—you've gotta keep going, no matter what, okay? They didn't know about the opening when we left, but that could've changed. The building we can stay at isn't far, but if they're guarding around the area…" she trailed off without planning to continue, not _wanting_ to.

No one gave any reaction, and she frowned. "Everyone got it?"

"Yeah," Show Pony nodded, looking around at them. He knew they were all extremely unwilling to go anywhere near BLI, _especially _to enter another city controlled by them, but what other choice did they have? Stay out in the desert and die? After all they'd gone through?

No. That wasn't an option. This was a crazy plan, but if it worked, they would at least be able to get what they needed. A good number of them were still not back to their original states of both mental and physical health, and if they could maybe rest a few more days with the proper supplies, that could change, and they could figure out what to do from there.

"Okay then," Bell gave them all a slightly nervous smile. She wasn't exactly thrilled to be going back, either. "Let's go."

It took the group around fifteen minutes to make the walk around the perimeter of the city, far enough away that they believed they wouldn't be spotted if anyone happened to be looking, until Bell stopped them, pointing at it. "There's a break in the fence. It's covered by bushes and in an alleyway-type thing…I think that's why no one's found it."

"You broke it?" Wire asked curiously, and Bell shook her head without looking back at him. "But I love whoever did."

Gerard squinted at the city, trying to make out the details of it. Even from the odd angle they were at, it was obvious it was at least three times larger than Battery City had been, surrounded by a tall fence composed of barbed wire. There was a building in the middle of it, much bigger and taller than any of the others, quite clearly the headquarters of BLI, and he frowned, clenching his fists, hate rising inside of him like a wave. No, like a fucking _tsunami, _caused by everything that the company had done to them and everyone else.

_That piece of shit; I'll kill him. _

He flinched as someone put a hand on his shoulder, shrinking away with a gasp and turning around to look at Ray, eyes wide.

Ray stepped back, surprised at his reaction. "Sorry…I just…"

The red head bit his lip and lowered his head, stepping back and turning to the city again as Bell spoke up once more. "You guys ready? Just make sure you follow us." She glanced at Elise with a little smile and nodded, whispering, "It's okay," as she saw the twelve-year-old had a frightened expression.

Rainbow nodded. "Lead the way," she breathed nervously, and Bell sighed. "Come on." Her and Elise set off, the rest only hesitating a second before quickly following them.

As they got closer, it became very obvious that BLI was extremely intent on preventing anyone from entering or exiting it that shouldn't have—it actually resembled a prison. With the fencing surrounding it and tall buildings around the edges of it like a second barricade, and especially with all the lights shining down from certain parts of the BLI building, almost like searchlights. And most frightening was, when asked, Bell had said she'd never been sure that wasn't _exactly_ what they were.

She stopped them as they reached the fence, grabbing at the brush around it and pulling it away to reveal a gaping hole in the wire. It didn't look like someone had simply pulled it apart, but more like they had carefully taken a pair of pliers to it for hours upon hours.

Bell shrugged to anyone who was looking at her and then carefully ducked into it, fighting through the bushes on the other side until she got out, beginning to clear it as much as she could as Elise followed.

At last she silently sighed and gestured for the rest of them to hurry. No one moved at first, and then Bullet stepped forward, bending to get past it, and Bell grabbed him as he tripped, putting her finger to her lips as he opened his mouth to thank her, instead nodding as he understood. The others cautiously did the same, the fence only rattling once, until there was only Dr. D and Skye left, almost afraid they would find his scooter too big to fit through. Thankfully, however, the man just made it in, and Bell shook her head in relief as the two joined them, frantically beginning to cover the entrance again as she whispered, "No one go anywhere."

Frank glanced around for Gerard, frowning as he did not see him for a long moment, and then realized he wasn't in the group, standing a little further down the alley, staring at the end of it. The only thing down there was an empty street, but his chin was tilted just enough that it was clear his gaze was above that, on the BLI building in the distance.

"Gee," Frank almost was inaudible as he approached the red head, who jumped and then smiled a bit as his boyfriend put an arm around his waist, looking at him in a bit of concern. "You okay?"

Gerard nodded, momentarily closing his eyes, and Frank quickly kissed his cheek, hoping to comfort him, as he clearly wasn't.

"Right," Bell mumbled, finishing and walking to get in front of them, gesturing. "This way, come on."

Feeling the brief resistance Gerard gave as he started forward, Frank glanced back at him and tightened his grip in worry, though the red head said nothing, and once they'd caught up with the group, all of their paces increased. Not enough they would be suspected of anything if seen (if their clothes were ignored, of course) but quick enough the ten minute walk was really five, and finally they stopped in front of the back entrance to what looked like an empty, abandoned corner store.

"Wait," Moon said, her gun in her hand, and she stepped towards the door, along with Rainbow, who was also armed.

Elise let out a shaky breath as they waited for the two to give the signal it was safe, tensed and looking around nervously.

"Hey," Bell murmured, putting a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay."

"What if—"

"It's _okay_," Bell smiled comfortingly, bringing her into a hug. "I promise."

She looked over to where Gerard had pulled Frank in front of him, his arms snugly clasped around his waist. The younger was leaned into him, eyes closed, looking half-asleep, but the red head was staring unblinkingly at the door the two had disappeared into, on edge, his brow furrowed a bit. He looked..._scared, _and considering everyone else was as well, noting that this was different was definitely something.

"It's clear," Moon quietly called to them from inside, and they filed in, Bell lingering outside a moment longer to take a last glance and assure no one was around before clicking the door shut. "All right," she then began, sounding not even the least bit concerned at the near-complete darkness they were plunged into. "No one move. Elle? You remember where the—"

She cut off as a light suddenly exploded from the opposite side of the room, and Elise yelped, covering the flashlight with her hands to only allow a bit of the harsh light out, just enough they could make her out, and she grinned awkwardly under the sudden attention. "Y-yeah, I did."

Bell snorted and then eyed the others, lifting her arms in a shrug that may have been meant to be a gesture of greeting. "Well, welcome to the place we've stayed at for, like…" she hesitated and looked at Elise. "A year? Two?"

The twelve-year-old nodded. "Something like that," she replied softly.

"A long time," Bell finished with, sighing and glancing around like everyone else was doing, though she didn't quite understand why. It was exactly very big, and it was almost completely bare. The only thing that indicated anyone had ever been there before now was the corner Elise was in, as it had two flashlights and several drawings with markers on the ground that had been scribbled over.

"We don't have anything here, 'cause, well, we weren't gonna come _back._" She chuckled humorlessly. "But tomorrow I can get supplies."

Breaking the silence that followed, Mikey gave a soft groan, wincing and leaning against the wall. Cat grabbed him to steady him, lowering him to ground when it was clear that wouldn't happen, taking his crutches as he distractedly released them before they could fall.

Gerard kneeled beside him in worry. "What's wrong?"

"Hit my foot—" he muttered, "—on the fence…I'm okay."

The red head gently took his hand, frowning, and Dr. D, who had turned his scooter towards them, eyed him in uncertainty. "Do you want—"

"No," Mikey shook his head immediately, closing his eyes, knowing what he'd been going to ask. The man had only brought so many painkillers in the box of medicine he'd gathered together from his van, only filled with what he absolutely needed to have in case something happened, and he refused to waste them. He just needed to sleep. "I'm fine."

It was all too familiar for both Frank and Ray, but they were relieved he had the option of lessening the pain if it got to be too much instead of being forced to endure it like before.

"We should get some rest," Rejection said softly, knowing most if not all of them had already been thinking of doing precisely that.

The seventeen almost silently settled down, and once Bell was positive everyone was safely on the ground, she looked at Elise and nodded slightly.

The flashlight clicked off and the darkness returned, the only source of light being a very dull, nearly non-existent beam coming through a few holes in the small, single, boarded up window, from what must have been a streetlight outside of the place.

Gerard blinked, allowing his vision to adjust, and then squinted around for Frank, at last seeing him leaning against the wall closest to the window, arms crossed and head lowered, already seeming like he'd fallen asleep.

The red head glanced back at Mikey, who was clearly out cold, and then at Ray beside him, gently holding the blonde's arm, and, with a brief hesitation, Gerard slowly released his younger brother's hand and stood. Then, blinking at the ground to assure he didn't trip, he quietly made his way over to his boyfriend, sitting next to him with a wince, attempting not to bother him.

Frank looked up almost immediately and then scooted next to him, leaning against his shoulder, and Gerard gave a small smile, clasping his hand with his boyfriend's and kissing his head. He then closed his eyes, trying to fight off his fear so he could sleep. They were back where the enemy could easily get to them if they tried, and the thought of being captured again—of having to go through anything even _slightly _similar—it was more terrifying than any other thing he could possibly think of. He absolutely couldn't handle being beaten and drugged and—and whatever else again.

_'You are, and always have been, too weak.'_

Gerard flinched at the words, resulting in Frank nestling even closer, and yet something in him questioned whether or not they were correct. _Was _he weak? He certainly hadn't the strength to stand what he had before, but that was only because he was still recovering, right? It'd all return eventually—it had to.

The mere memory of being forced to remain awake for days immediately increased his sense of exhaustion, and he gratefully let the void of nothingness overtake him.

* * *

><p>Wire awoke with a wince, raising his head to see where the shuffling he heard was coming from, blinking in the dull light creeping in from between the wood on the window.<p>

Bell stopped moving, staring at him in surprise. "Sorry," she mouthed silently.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes and keeping his voice very low as he asked, "Where're you going?"

"Out," she whispered in response. "To get supplies." She smiled sweetly. "You wanna come?"

"Um," Wire blushed. "Sure."

Bell gestured and then started towards the door, waiting until the Killjoy had gotten to his feet, stifling a yawn and following her, careful not to disturb the others, before she opened it, allowing him out before she slipped into the alleyway as well, gently closing it behind her.

Blinking in the very dull morning light, Bell sighed and then looked the younger over. His clothes weren't too noticeably different—colorful, yes, but not to the extreme like a lot of the others were. His blonde hair was also not dyed, and as he'd be staying in the shadows, anyway, she realized he was probably the perfect person to have come with her, the one least likely to get caught.

"All right," she nodded the opposite direction of the street, "we're taking that way."

Wire cautiously went alongside her as she walked, her pace almost nonchalant, like she had done this a hundred times before—and, really, she probably had. He wasn't exactly too concerned either; they were walking down a darkened back path, one he highly doubted would be being patrolled by anyone. Though he couldn't be too sure, with as much as Bell had said they had increased their defense.

"Does this place have a lot of guards?" Wire asked, and Bell shrugged. "Depends how many _a lot _is to you. I'd say yeah, compared to how many there used to be—and I thought _that _was too many." She glanced at him. "Did Battery City?"

"Yeah. I mean, from what I remember. I got out, like, two years ago, so there could've been more before…" he trailed off and looked away, and Bell sighed. "Sorry."

"Did you know anyone there?"

Bell gave a little jerk in her walking, like she'd nearly stopped and yet continued anyway. It was silent for a moment, and then she nodded. "That's where a friend of mine told me a long time ago he was going. I don't know if he ever made it or what, but, now…" she paused and swallowed hard, running a hand through her hair. "I almost hope he didn't. Maybe…"

She stopped again and shook her head. "Whatever," she murmured, her tone an obvious ending of the conversation.

Wire cleared his throat quietly and neither spoke again until Bell halted in front of the back door of small store, biting her lip. "Stay here."

"You've got money?"

"Nope," Bell gave him a little mischievous grin and then inched the door open, peering inside before going through it, closing it behind her.

Wire sighed and leaned against the wall across from it, glancing around. Now that it was lighter out, he could better see around where he was, a bit disappointed when he found nothing interesting; just a long few corridors that were mostly enclosed in shadows, ending in another street further down. Not that he wasn't okay with there being nothing exciting around, of course—he was _more _than okay with that. He and the others had had enough of that probably to last the rest of their lives.

He frowned as a very quick memory flashed through his mind, of when he was much younger, before BLI had gotten to be such a controlling agency. When he and his friends had been able to still be children, to have fun without being monitored or having to pretend to be on the same medication everyone else was. He'd never taken them—he'd always hide them in his room and copy how his parents and brother acted. But his friends had started changing as well after a while, and no matter how hard he attempted to act the same as them, he couldn't, and they've eventually stopped wanting to play with him. He always chose his emotions over having friends, though, and that was perhaps the very decision that had caused him to grow up faster than he would've liked.

But all that was over now; he couldn't dwell on what he was incapable of changing. He just had to make sure it didn't happen to anyone else.

After an undetermined amount of time simply standing there, he finally frowned, stepping towards the door in a bit of concern. How long had it been since she'd gone in? What if something had gone wrong? Or someone had caught her? Or—

_You're turning into Cat, _he told himself, trying to shake off the anxiety, only it didn't go away, and with an exasperated sigh, he gently gripped the knob of the door, edging it slowly open until he could see inside. It was a storage room by the looks of it, and he bit his lip, looking at the boxed food in longing as his stomach growled. Why hadn't Bell just grabbed something and gotten out? That _had_ been what she meant she was coming for, hadn't it?

He cracked it more, hearing voices that were incomprehensible from where he was, and quickly jumped inside and quickly shut the door behind him.

A hand immediately on the gun holster around his waist, he stepped forward, straining to make out what whoever talking was saying, still failing. They were whispering, he finally realized, and that only irritated him, enough that he continued towards them, set on assuring Bell was all right, hitting his shoulder on a rack. He clenched his teeth so he wouldn't make any noise, starting forward again—and then gasped as whatever he'd bumped into crashed into something else, causing a metallic _clang _to ring out behind him, echoing so loud that Wire believed it could have probably alerted everyone in the BLI building from here.

The voices stopped, and the Killjoy exhaled sharply, grabbing his gun and shakily holding it out. There were a few heavy footsteps, and a man in his early thirties peered back, looking at him so strangely Wire nearly wasn't afraid. His hair was disheveled, short, and a light shade of brown that matched his narrowed eyes, and he was dressed in a dark green, which Wire was grateful meant that at least he wasn't working for the company.

"What're you doing here?" the man demanded, and then caught sight of his ray gun, his expression becoming confused.

"Ash, he's with me," Bell murmured, coming up beside the man, frowning at Wire. "'Stay here' meant _stay there_."

"S-sorry…?" Wire mumbled, slowly lowering the weapon, eyeing the man—Ash—who had looked away from the gun since he'd seen it. "Who…?"

"Ah," Bell began, clearing her throat, "this is my friend, Ashton." She gestured at the Killjoy, looking at the man. "And this is—"

"Electrical Wire," the younger interrupted, frowning.

"You…you're a _Killjoy?_" Ashton finally managed, sounding truly at a loss for words. "Shit! I thought BLI got rid of the rest of you months ago."

Wire's frown only deepened. The man didn't sound upset he was here, he seemed…_intrigued, _almost. "What?"

"They killed off or captured all the Killjoys who used to rebel outside the city," Bell explained. "The ones who got away must've spread the word—we haven't seen any come back."

Ashton turned to her quizzically. "So why did _you?_ You left days ago, I thought…well, I thought you were either dead or not coming back."

Bell shivered. "I almost was. But this one and a group of others helped me out."

"Bell—" Wire whispered desperately, and Ashton gave a small chuckle. "You don't trust me."

Wire looked him over without replying.

"Look kid," he said with a kind smile, "believe it or not, I used to be a Killjoy, too." He laughed at Wire's surprise. "Yeah. Used to rebel like the rest of ya—long time ago. Got outta Battery City and never looked back, found a few of you guys, and joined for a year or two."

"You left?" Wire questioned. "Why?"

"I don't know," Ashton shrugged. "I wanted to explore more. Went off on my own, almost died, and decided I'd rather live in this city than have them leave me to die." He pointed at him. "Which, trust me, they would've done without blinking."

"They let you just…go on living, like nothing happened?"

"About a month in a Correction Center later, yeah." Ashton clicked his tongue. "You ever been in one of those, kid? _Not _fun."

Wire hadn't himself, but several of the others had, and he knew enough to be certain they were anything but pleasant. Anyone caught not taking medication or breaking laws were sent to them to be "corrected" in any ways thought necessary. In Battery City, there had been four; here, that number could have easily been doubled—tripled, even.

"So…you _do_ take meds?"

Ashton lowered his voice even more than it had been. "Do you?"

"Of course not," Wire scoffed, and as the man gave a little, hardly noticeable nod, he understood he'd answered for him. "Then you just pre—"

"Kid, I don't—we shouldn't talk here, okay?"

Bell glanced at him, pausing a moment to recall information. "This place doesn't open till nine, right?"

"Why? Where're you hiding out this time?"

Wire looked around for cameras, hesitant, but Bell clearly had an utter sense of trust for the man. "Same place. Can you come?"

Ashton lifted his head slightly to glimpse at the clock on the wall, which read 7:14 A.M., and then stepped towards her. "Yeah."

Wire was absolutely frozen, his blue eyes fixed on the numbers, and Ashton frowned at him. "You okay?"

"Yeah, no, I'm fine." Wire murmured, snapping out of his daze and turning to him. "What day is it?"

"Ah…Thursday."

Wire grinned. When had he last known both of those things? It had to have been at least a year. He'd had a watch with him the day he had escaped, but it had stopped working a few months after he'd joined up with the Killjoys, and he had decided that, instead of trying to fix it, he would throw it out. They had no use for knowing the time out there, and it had never bothered him, but he knew he would have taken the option of being told it if it had come up, and it felt strange at last finding out.

Ashton shrugged and then gestured at Bell, who nodded and turned, leading the man out and waiting for Wire to follow.

"Bell," he whispered as he passed her, urgently trying to explain his uncertainty about what she was doing, and she rolled her eyes. "Ash has helped me and Elle out for years, okay? I trust him."

He frowned and bit his lip as she started off, and then watched as Ashton followed her, closely walking behind him. What was Bell doing? Sure she trusted him, but still—showing him everyone a _day _after they'd gotten there? It was definitely a big risk—much more of one than he felt they needed to be taking at the time.

He was still lost in thought when they arrived back, Bell opening the door and stepping in. Wire forced himself through in front of the man, prompting an amused laugh, and he gazed at the Killjoys, who were almost all awake, now staring at the newcomer in surprise.

"How the living _hell,_" Ashton began, startled, speaking to Bell without glancing at her, "did you sneak _all _of these—"

"Ash!" Elise suddenly shouted, jumping up from where she'd been sitting and practically tackling the man, who smiled and gave her a quick hug. "Hey, kiddo." His voice took on a saddened tone. "Didn't think I'd be seeing either of you again."

Elise grinned even bigger, and then Bell addressed the Killjoys, seeming a little awkward. "Um…this is Ashton. He's helped us out for…a long time."

Ashton looked up at them again, eyeing each one of them until he saw the man in the scooter, who was staring back with a mixture of shock and confusion, more so than any of the others.

Frowning, Ashton slowly blinked at him, once, twice, and then his chin quickly tilted down just an inch in disbelief, clearly stunned as he seemed to remember something.

"…Steve?"


	15. Hopelessly Blissful And BLind

**A/N: ****C****hapter title is from the song We're All To Blame by Sum 41 (well, minus the /. Aren't I clever? xD).**

Chapter Fifteen

Hopelessly Blissful and BL/ind

All the Killjoys were immediately intrigued with the new man, staring at either him or Dr. D, who at last broke the silence with a soft, relieved chuckle. "Goddamn...I thought you were dead."

"I thought by now I would be, too." Ashton shook his head, adjusting the cap Wire hadn't noticed he'd grabbed before leaving, too distracted by his own thoughts. "_And _you. I didn't know there were still Killjoys alive, especially after..."

He trailed off as his eyes landed on the red head in the corner, his arms around the younger, still sleeping Killjoy beside him, and his expression became stunned again. "Ah..." He looked around for a moment and then focused on the other two. "Well, after they supposedly got rid of you four almost a week ago. I didn't think anyone still out there would be desperate—or stupid—enough to come anywhere near here again."

"We didn't have a choice." Rejection murmured a bit defensively. "It would've killed us all to stay without supplies just hoping we'd come across more."

"With so many of ya, no wonder. Is this it?"

"We're..." Rejection hesitated, tilting her head down just a bit both respectively and sadly. "Yeah. I'm pretty sure we're the last ones."

"Oh, yeah." Ashton sighed. "Bell told me about Battery. Lot of people who shouldn't have had to die." He looked at Gerard, who had cast his gaze to the ground at the words. "It's damn amazing you all got away." He paused as the twenty-four-year-old looked up once again, his brow furrowing slightly as he realized the man's attention was still directed to him. "How did you, anyway?"

The red head wasn't sure what to say. He didn't remember, to be honest; it was absolutely blank from the time he'd been in the hallway until he'd woken up in Frank's arms in the warehouse days later. And while he hated anytime he couldn't recall something that had happened, no matter if it'd been his fault for not paying close enough attention or something completely out of his control, he was more than okay with having no memory of Battery City's fate. He shook his head finally. "We just..." his voice trailed off into a quiet murmur. "...did?"

Ashton raised an eyebrow. "Descriptive." His voice wasn't quite sarcastic; somewhere between it and playful, as if trying to lighten the mood.

Gerard glanced away again, unable to find the humor the man had obviously been going for, and Dr. D cleared his throat. "Wasn't easy, but we managed it." He thought for a moment. "What happened? Last time I saw you it was...years ago. Almost six, I think."

Ashton leaned his back against the closed door, crossing his legs in front of him, releasing a long breath. "Well, I got my will to explore out. It almost killed me, so good riddance. I'm still surprised they don't constantly follow me around. Guess I earned their trust after being a good little emotionless drone. Never even took the pills after they let me outta the CC." He winced at the memory. "Goddamn, you don't have a clue how far they'll go in those places to make you agree and obey."

Mikey flinched, and Gerard unconsciously tightened his grip on Frank so much he gave a small cough and awoke, blinking in confusion and craning his neck to frown at Gerard, who blushed as he realized he was practically choking him, releasing him to only have an arm loosely around his waist.

Dr. D sighed, glancing at them out of the corners of his eyes. That hadn't _exactly _been what he meant to bring on by changing the subject.

One of the most horrifying—if not _the _most horrifying—"laws" the citizens of Battery City had been forced to comply with was that couples of the same sex were strictly forbidden to publically show affection. This had been due to so many of the citizens criticizing such before—and even after, really—the medications had kicked into full gear. Even after surviving the fires, lucky to be alive at all, they had found something to continue to hate and take their anger out on; it was bound to happen with something, anyway. They believed it 'disrupted' the new society, and, when those people thought that throwing insults at the two men they saw holding hands, or the two women they saw kissing wasn't enough, they complained. It wasn't as if there was even a_ reason_ to complain; the couples barely made up anything of the population that of course hadn't been much to begin with. But, with the government still in the stage of gaining the trust of everyone so they believed that they _were _the best option, that they _did _do everything they could to make their people happy, they had done some discussing, a vote, and then the disgusting requirement had been made. It hadn't been only the people it affected that were horrified, but many others as well. It had been what pushed several into escaping entirely in the next few years, even if they hadn't been hurt by it. It had still been made and that fact alone _had _hurt them. They'd even had the _option _of banning it entirely, but had probably figured it was a bit pointless—if no one did it in public, they wouldn't know either way.

And that was how all of those relationships remained; secretive. They were afraid of being caught and unable to hold hands anywhere but their houses, but nonetheless continued. BLI could make laws, but they couldn't do shit about that. And they'd _tried. _They'd come out with new medications all the time, supposedly better than the previous stuff, but each time, there was one mistake they could never seem to fix, one feeling they couldn't get rid of completely. Mothers and fathers still felt love for one another and their children, siblings cared for each other, and the couples who barely left their apartments in fear of being arrested felt it, even though most if not all of them stopped taking the medication after the ban. And it wasn't false either—it wasn't some synthetic sentiment that they had planted in it on purpose. Little did nearly all of the citizens know, BLI didn't _actually _care about them. If they could've gotten rid of love, they fucking would have. It was an annoyance to them; it presented problems in their authority, such as again, even with the laws they'd made, people would still break them secretly, all because of the wretched passion between them. The medication was supposed to make them happy, susceptible drones that conformed to whatever they BLI said, hopelessly blind to the world and what was wrong with it. And yet, that particular sensation cut through each time. It didn't specifically affect one group or another—the fact was, there _were_ certain things that could override BLI's 'perfect' solution to emotions, though that was the only one anyone seemed to be aware of.

Almost a year after the ban had taken effect, two since BLI had first taken over, the reason for the three flinching at the mention of a Correction Center had occurred. There had been a fight of some sort—none of them had ever been too specific about it—walking home from school, and, upon getting away and narrowly escaping any worse injuries than a few bruises, Gerard and Frank had only been trying to comfort each other, despite Mikey's desperate pleas to simply go home, which was seen and taken the wrong way by someone walking by. The next thing they had known, they'd been sent off to a CC for both the relationship of the two and the fact that, on further inspection, it was discovered none of them had been taking their medication.

The details of whatever had occurred there had never been discussed—only that it had led to Gerard and Mikey's family being arrested, all three of them banning together and just barely escaping in time to avoid the same, managing to get out of the city entirely, guilty, uncertain, and without supplies. They'd tried finding somewhere to hide out but failed, wandering in the heat until they were simply incapable of continuing.

_"Christ, this is all my fault." _

_Frank glanced dazedly at the older boy, who was leaning over Mikey in an attempt to give him as much shade as he could, his eyes half-closed as he fought of the exhaustion that had already claimed his younger brother. "It's not..." he rasped._

_Shaking his head just enough it could be seen, Gerard mumbled, "Is. Should'a left you."_

_"What?" Frank exclaimed, much too loud, breaking off into a coughing fit that left him weaker than before, crawling over to his love and resting his head on the knee not supporting Mikey's. "I wouldn't'a stayed...I love you."_

_Gerard made a sound that might have been a laugh, placing a hand on Frank's warm cheek, and then he winced as he raised his head enough to look around, his vision shimmering and threatening to fade. There was no one around, and as much as that disappointed him, he had to wonder, why the hell would there be? They'd walked for almost two days, only stopping at night, in an attempt to find somewhere to stay, or at least some water, but had found nothing. Battery City was no longer visable behind them...or, whichever direction they'd come from...which left nothing but hot sand everywhere he looked that matched the color of the sun slowly killing them. _

_He blinked hard and shifted. He knew it'd been their only option, at least for him and Mikey. And with Frank, constantly having bruises forming on him from what he'd never given a reason for more than he got into 'disagreements' with his father in the brief times he wasn't on the high the medication provided each day, it had seemed like the best idea. BLI might've come for him, anyway; there was no telling what they were going to think was the correct thing to do. They'd tortured them, for fuck's sake, for doing nothing more than refusing to take their pills or obey the stupidest of laws—if that wasn't evidence that they would stop at nothing to be in charge, he didn't know what could be. _

_"Sorry..." he murmured. "Thought it'd be different." And he really had. He hadn't known there would be nothing out here but more desert—he'd hoped maybe there was another city they could reside in until they could come back for his and Mikey's parents. _

_But that was all it'd ever been. Hope. He could hope for someone to rescue them now, but it wasn't going to happen. _

_"Sorry." he repeated, looking down at Frank, and then shook his head as he realized his eyes had closed. "Frankie, no, baby, please don't..." he moaned miserably, shaking him, uselessly begging him to wake up, leaning over and pressing his forehead to his when his pleas were ignored, gripping Mikey's shirt with his other hand. _

_"Please..."_

_-.-.-_

_"Jet! Jesus, do you ever slow down?"_

_Jet Star sighed in aggravation, paused, and turned to face the girl who'd called his name, Static Charge, who cocked an eyebrow as she slowed her own pace, catching up to him in a minute. "You know there's probably Dracs out here, right?"_

_"Maybe I'll finally get to kill something." Jet murmured with a grin, starting off again. _

_"You barely know how to use your gun, let alone aim it. I think it'd be more like they'd get to kill something." _

_He frowned, shooting her a glare. "Thanks."_

_"What?" Static shrugged, turning away briefly to cough, shaking her head. "I'm serious. That's why I was told to make sure that doesn't happen. Anyway, it's been a week; how long do you think it takes to learn how to use one of these things?" She patted the ray gun in the holster snugly around her waist._

_Jet grimaced. He always had hated being treated like he knew nothing. "You hold it up and pull a trigger—how hard do you think that is for me to understand?"_

_Static gave an exaggerated shrug, signaling her surrender to the conversation, and Jet nodded in satisfaction, frowning suddenly as he saw something. "Static?"_

_"Mm." _

_"What's that?"_

_Static raised her head and stopped, her brow furrowing as she noticed what he had, and then, Jet realizing it an instant faster, she gasped, watching him take off towards the figures and then closely following. _

_"Holy shit," Jet muttered as he approached, dropping to his knees beside the three unconscious teens, hesitantly reaching out to press two fingers to the side of the one closest's neck, his amazement increasing as he did so to each. "They're still alive," he called as Static reached him, her expression looking like she didn't believe him, and then she double-checked, shaking her head as she felt their heartbeats—slow, weak, but definitely there. She glanced over their condition, fearing once she had that they didn't have much longer, wondering how long they'd been out here._

_"Run back to the car; call for help!" Jet suddenly ordered, unscrewing the top of the small canteen he'd found on a prior raid, not sure where exactly the commanding voice had come from and surprised when Static actually obeyed, shooting off so fast she almost literally left a cloud of dust behind her._

_Without hesitation, Jet leaned over the one closest, using his finger to gently part his cracked lips and then very slowly let a few droplets fall between them, continuing to do so until the boy coughed and moaned softly. _

_"Hey," Jet tried, praying it was helping, and when he didn't get a response, he gave him a bit more of the water and then moved onto the other two, succeeding in getting a groan from all of them, confirming that they could be saved, and he sighed in relief. He turned to again tend to the first boy, exclaiming in surprise when he saw him staring back, dazed and too weak to move but aware enough to look completely terrified. _

_"It's okay," Jet soothed, "I'm not gonna hurt you. We're gonna help you, okay?"_

_The boy's eyes fluttered closed again, and he mumbled inaudibly._

_"What?" Jet raised the canteen, thinking he was asking for more water._

_"Gee..."_

_"I don't...know..." he trailed off with a sigh, uncertain what that meant, if anything at all, and then looked over at the two others. Gee...was that one of their names? _

_"Mm."_

_Jet looked at him again, not knowing what else to do but offer him water, and this time the boy consciously drank, choking slightly and grimacing, blinking and squinting up at him._

_"You're gonna be fine," the Killjoy said, nodding. _

_"An' Mi...and 'em?"_

_Jet looked at the others, noticing that the one who appeared to be the oldest had a trouble expression, and saw the one who was lying half on his lap had actually stirred, his hand on his chest instead of the sand beside him like before. So they were coming to, at least a little—that had to be a good sign._

_"Yeah. Yeah, you're all gonna be okay."_

The water had seemingly given just enough life back to the three, and they had managed to remain more or less conscious until Dr. D had successfully stabilized them at his own place. They'd taken a week or two to get back on their feet, a few days to really grasp what had happened to them, and virtually five seconds to accept the offer of joining the rebel group, ready to do anything they could to both free the two's parents and the entire city.

After another boy had escaped from the city a few months later, he'd given them the news that he had gotten away during the upheaval of the entire city resulting from a fire that had burnt down the very building the people who continuously refused to obey were held, leaving it very clear there was a slim chance the two's parents (and even Frank's; he hadn't any idea what had happened to them after they'd left) had survived. BLI of course had probably calmed everyone with lies as they did whenever anything went wrong, and while it'd taken time for them to get back to normal, they'd grown even more hateful of the company, more determined to bring it down, the attitudes probably the exact reason they'd become who everyone looked up to.

Dr. D sighed; he could only hope they would be able to recover as well as that from whatever had happened a week ago. "I have an idea, anyway," he replied at last.

Ashton frowned slightly, and then Bell changed the subject, sensing the tension. "How'd you know him?" she gestured at the Doc.

The man briefly removed his cap to run a hand through his hair. "Well, I told you how I was a Killjoy years ago...it just happened to be Steve here that had to save me before that."

Dr. D visibly winced at the name, and Ashton cleared his throat. "Dr. Death Defying. Sorry. Anyway, we were friends—it was strange, 'cause I'd never really had any before."

The Doc smiled a bit. "Bit of a first for me, too." The grin faded. "Then ya left and, well...we both moved on, I guess."

"If you only knew how much I wish I'd never left; how much I wanted to come back." Ashton grimaced. "But they'd have killed me if I mentioned a word about the Killjoys or rebelling—I guess I was too scared to challenge 'em. I just really wish there were some people here gettin' sick enough of BLI's shit to actually do something."

"There no one?" Moon asked quietly, and Ashton shrugged. "There's the A.P., but no one's ever seen 'em in action. They could just be what BLI blames their fuck-ups on."

"A.P.?" Cat spoke up, curious. "What's that?"

"Anti-Party." the man replied. "Supposedly—and again, no one's ever been a witness to prove it—it's a group of kids, teens, whatever, and they're sort of...how do I put this..._undercover _Killjoys, I guess? They screw up transmissions BLI tries to send out, graffiti shit on walls—the whole rebel deal."

Frank frowned. "How're they a lie if that's happening?"

"Who knows? BLI'll go as far as they want to prove that they're..." he blinked and rolled his eyes. "..._perfect. _No way in _hell _was there a problem getting the signal out—it was that damned A.P." He snorted. "It just so happens they magically blend in with everyone else any other time."

"You don't think they're real?"

"I don't know. I hope they are. We could really use people standing up to them_._ Especially after last week."

Bell nodded, gripping Elise close to her. "There weren't as many Watchers before as there are now."

"Watchers?" Wire questioned.

"The vans that patrol. They really upped their guard for a while. They went around and if anyone even _looked_ suspicious, they'd take 'em in for evaluation. And right about the time the news about you all being dead started traveling around, a shit-load of cars just pulled into the city and disappeared into the gates around the BLI building. Then that weird lady I told you about came on and calmly assured everyone that everything was okay on the City Square's screen." She snickered. "Felt so safe we hauled ass out of there."

"And everyone took it so well," Ashton said, shrugging. "I mean, _obviously _they did...the meds have somethin' in 'em that makes everyone want to believe and obey everything they say. But...I guess I'm still waiting for someone to finally snap out of it and realize something's wrong—stand up to the bastards, even. Someone who won't back down like everyone else I've seen try."

Gerard felt a pang of regret. He wished he could fit that description; he had before, hadn't he? He wasn't certain of anything anymore except the fact that BLI had beaten them, and even worse, made it painfully obvious that they were stronger than any effort the Killjoys were aware they could make. He couldn't have led them into a fight in this state of mind if he tried, and he feared that, even once they were all mended, his orders would still be unconvincing and worthless enough that they wouldn't be followed, anyway.

_'How did you ever become their leader? You're a joke, Gerard Way.' _

Gerard whimpered softly at the tormenting voice, shaking his head, and Frank gave him a small shove with his arm, snapping him out of it and letting out a sigh as the red head softly moaned, blinking hard to clear his mind. The younger then reached his arms around him and leaned his head on his shoulder, smiling a bit when Gerard gently nuzzled his hair, mistaking it to be from relief when really it was to hide the tears that threatened to spill over onto his cheeks until he was sure they were no longer noticeable.

"But you guys..." Ashton continued, "I don't know, maybe you could change that. I mean, you're smart enough to have stayed alive all this time in the _desert, _so you sure as hell can't make our chances worse."

Bell nodded, and then Elise spoke up. "That'd be so cool..." she grinned. "Could I help if you do?"

Dr. D chuckled softly, sadly. "If we find something for you to help with, sure."

Elise smiled bigger, looking like she could explode from excitement. "Really? Like fighting 'n stuff?"

"We really don't want to fight _anyone _right now," Candy murmured, gesturing weakly at the others like their conditions alone backed up that statement. "We sorta almost died the other day..."

Cat vigorously nodded her agreement, and Dr. D glanced at them. "I never said we were going to do anything _now_. _If_ we find a way to help."

"They're always trying to fuck up something else," Ashton sighed. "It really wouldn't be hard."

No one responded, and Ashton shrugged. "Not trying to force you to help or anything...just was kinda hoping that...forget it." He shook his head, changing the subject once more, glancing at the Doc. "You know what I miss most about out there? Your radio station."

Dr. D smiled slightly. "Still no rock, huh?"

"Rock?" Elise murmured with a frown, acting as if the word was foreign to her, and then Bell put a hand on her shoulder, solemn. "There's no _music _anymore."

The Killjoys gawked at her, stunned, and finally Ray quietly said, "...What?"

Ashton bit his lip. "Rock was just the first thing they got sick of hearing. They'd banned just about everything when I got here, and it took maybe a month before it was all gone. No instruments, radios, nothing. Apparently BLI thinks we were somehow sending secret messages against them through the notes." He chuckled without even a hint of amusement. "I _really_ miss your station."

"That's awful!" Cat sounded heartbroken. It wasn't surprising, though, as they had always depended on the music station Dr. D had run for so long—it had been the only source of happiness for most of them, and still wanted by the others. To try and picture living without it was near impossible, and something that they didn't want to imagine, anyway.

"Yeah, well, welcome to Hell, kid." Ashton looked at her. "That's not to say some people don't still own what they used to—guitars and whatnot. But if anyone finds you with 'em, you're about as bad off as someone not takin' their pills."

Mikey shifted uncomfortably, biting back the complaint that he was hungry. What the hell was wrong with him? He'd never been the one to even think about whining, and now he had the urge to? Especially after how long he'd gone without eating prior to this, a day and half should have been nothing. And he'd chosen not to eat before, afraid their food supply would run out quicker than they thought, if the city was further than Bell had said or, even worse, had been destroyed along with Battery. He hadn't believed it to be such a bad thing, in case someone else needed it more, but they hadn't even been able to bring any with them, leaving him wishing he hadn't gone through with the pointless act.

His stomach growled, and Ray looked at him like he'd heard, causing the blonde to blush and avert his gaze.

Ray gave a little smile and gently put a hand on his, looking up and clearing his throat softly. "Ah..." he began in the silence, cringing as everyone looked at him. "Is there...did you find any...?"

Bell gasped. "I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, understanding immediately. "I meant to, but then—oh..." she sighed, turning to Ashton. "Ash..."

The man stared at her and spoke before she could continue. "_Two_ was pushing it; it'll be a hell of a lot more noticeable now. I don't know how I'd explain how the stuff went missing without any money being added."

"Well, we can't pay," Bullet muttered, and Moon punched his shoulder, hissing, "_Dumbass,_" in irritation.

"I know, and...I wish..." Ashton appeared utterly torn, unsure of what he could do. Then he sighed heavily, turning to Bell. "...You remember where my place is?" he asked, voice low.

Bell frowned, not seeing where the question was leading to. "Well, yeah, but—"

"Then...then we'll take 'em there. I've got enough food I've _already _paid for."

"Are you sure?" Bell asked, alarmed he was even suggesting it, and Ashton shook his head. "Got any better ideas?"

He took Bell's silence as a no and turned to the Killjoys. "I have a place not far from here, I mean...I'm not sure how else to get you anything."

"Won't we get caught?" Candy asked, and Ashton bit his lip. "Three blocks isn't that far. I could try bringing something _back, _but—"

"It's gonna look a lot more suspicious bringing food to an abandoned store than us walking." Skye said, and Pony looked at her, glancing down at his clothes, the others, and then back again, not even having to speak for her to understand what she'd missed. If they ran into anyone, their clothes would immediately give away they weren't normal citizens. "Shit..." she mumbled, and then looked back at Ashton. "Our clothes?"

"It's pretty early...there shouldn't be a lot of people around. You'll stay in the shadows."

"What about anyone from BLI?" Pony asked. As of now they were believe to be dead, but the second BLI was notified of their error...he didn't want to think about the consequences he already knew too well.

"They don't just walk around," Ashton pointed out. "They have vans. Watchers. And they're pretty damn easy to spot from a distance. If we're careful, we should be fine." He winced regretfully. "I wish I had a better option, really."

It was silent for a moment, and then Dr. D sighed, looking at the others. "I don't know if we have another choice. We _don't, _really."

"Are you sure we _can _stay there?" Cat asked, feeling Candy comfortingly take her hand. "Like...is it safe?"

"I've never had a problem hiding something." Ashton smiled a bit crookedly. "I got my friend outta trouble by givin' him a place to lay low for a while." He cleared his throat. "I'm pretty damn sure he still thinks he lives there, which is the reason I've got enough food. Anyway, I'm thinking maybe it'd work the same for you. It's a pretty big place, I mean...there's a lot'a you, but..."

Dr. D nodded, slightly hesitant. "Thank you. Really."

"I still owe you for saving my life all those years ago," Ashton said, looking at all of them. "I don't think any of ya should be a problem..." His eyes landed on Gerard, and he frowned, taking his hat off and tossing it towards him.

Frank jerked back like he expected it to hit him, gasping despite Gerard having already grabbed it, his cheeks tingeing red as the older looked him over in concern and then shot Ashton an accusing glare.

"Your hair's kinda...bright," the man explained, and Gerard snorted. "That was the point." he muttered before he starting to fit his cherry hair into it, suddenly annoyed at the length when there were strands that only fell back into his face. Frank shifted the cap and tucked some of them up, and at last the man shrugged. "Better."

He searched the others, seeing Cat's hair next, and she reached back to pull the hood of her sleeveless jacket over her head, giving a small smile, and the three others with dyed hair began trying to hide theirs as well, at last succeeding to at least make themselves slightly less conspicuous. Unfortunately, nothing could be done about their clothes at the moment, and so he nodded, satisfied. "All right. Are you ready now?"

Dr. D cleared his throat, glancing at the others and then back again, giving a small smile.

"Lead the way."


	16. If You Look In The Mirror

Chapter Sixteen

If You Look In The Mirror And Don't Like What You See...

Ashton gestured towards the door of the abandoned store, and the Killjoys began standing, making their way to him. Once they were huddled together and ready, Ashton opened the door, stepping out first and peering into the street before waving for the rest to follow.

"Be quick," he quietly told them, crossing and then waiting for them to catch up, wincing in sympathy as he saw the two with crutches, glancing behind them and then continuing on, ushering them into the shadows whenever possible.

It was a miracle they didn't get lost, to be honest. It was obvious the city had been built how it was due to the large amount of people, but in any case, the way all the buildings, none of which were any smaller than a three-story parking garage, sort of connected with each other, leaving mere corridors winding between them and streets with very narrow sidewalks the only way to get from place to place—they hadn't any idea how _anyone _managed not to lose their bearings.

It was a terrifying thought by itself—getting lost some place they didn't know nor could find their way around alone—but what made it infinitely worse was that they had to remember they were no longer free like they had been in the Zones. Out there, at least at first, they hadn't had much of a fear of being caught. They could kiss whoever they wanted, say and do whatever they wanted—there were no longer laws preventing them from doing so. Now, though, they were again liable to be captured and turned in to BLI to be killed (or worse, as the four had already come to realize they were capable of) at any moment, and with all Ashton and Bell had said, about how much they had increased their guard...they were rightfully afraid.

Ashton _did _seem confident, however, and assured them several times he knew exactly where they were going, probably having spotted the apprehensive expressions on a few of them. He led them for around five minutes, their pace as fast as they could manage without seeming suspicious (though they only saw two people on the street, thankfully noticed by neither) before he finally stopped them, pointing at the apartment complex they'd arrived in front of. "Fifth floor—pretty damn lucky no one lives below me."

He held his hand out for them to enter, murmuring, "They've got an elevator," as the Doc and the limping two gave him a quizzical look when they passed.

He reached up to adjust his hat, recalled why it wasn't there, and then realized the one he'd given it to wasn't with the rest of them. He frowned and turned, seeing the red head had stopped further back, looking at the window of the store across from the complex. He had a hand on his cheek, and Ashton realized after a moment that he was looking at his reflection. _Thank God the shop's closed, _he thought flatly, and then suddenly looked around, fully acknowledging how dangerous this entire thing was, and while he knew the Killjoy must've realized that, too, he still didn't move. God, if someone came by _now—_Ashton couldn't have thought of a more absurd reason for them all to get caught. "Hey," he called quietly, his tone slightly acerbic without him being aware of it, "You know, people _do _live here, and they _are _eventually going to come out!"

Gerard slowly turned away from the glass, appearing dazed, and then blinked hard, rejoining the group.

"All right," Ashton began, closing the door behind them, nervously scanning the small, empty lobby and then turning to the others. "The stairs are there; door five." He gestured towards the three that couldn't use them and then stepped towards the elevator as the rest headed to the stairwell.

Ashton glanced back to subtly nod at Bell. "Make sure they don't get caught. Please?"

Bell looked at him with a slight smile and then went off as they climbed into the elevator. "Door five," she called up softly, her voice echoing a bit, and someone bitterly snapped, "We heard."

She rolled her eyes, immediately believing it had been the red head until she realized he was right in front of her, silent, his head lowered. "…You okay?" she asked hesitantly, and he shrugged without much enthusiasm. "Fine."

She said nothing else, watching as Frank glanced back and stopped, waiting for Gerard to catch up and then gently taking his hand, stopping him for a moment, quickly standing on the tips of his toes to whisper something into his ear and then giving it a kiss before he pulled back. Bell couldn't see, but Gerard must have smiled because Frank immediately did as well, turning and gently tugging on the older's arm as they continued.

Once they'd reached the door, Bell sped up her pace to get in front of them all, edging it open and assuring the hall was empty before stepping out and whispering, "Ash!"

Ashton leaned out from behind the opposite wall next to his door a little ways down, smiling at her like sneaking them all in was entirely normal. "Comin'?"

Bell let out a sigh and rolled her eyes, stepping forward to allow the Killjoys to go, moving her gaze from one side of the hall to the other and back again. Then at last she was able to get inside and close the door behind her, leaning against the wood and letting out a breath of relief. She blinked at the group, noticing how intrigued they were as they looked around.

_Right, they've been living in the desert this whole time._

She had to admit, it was an impressive place. It had four bedrooms—unnecessarily of course, as he was the only who really lived there—and a large living room connected to a nicely sized kitchen, leaving it obvious the man was very well off on terms of money, or at least better than many.

"Sorry," Ashton mumbled, kicking something under the couch and rubbing the back of his neck. "It's sorta…shitty. I wasn't planning on anyone but the friend I mentioned coming over."

"God, no, it's—fine!" Rejection managed, eyes as wide as the others. She honestly could not remember the last time she—or any of them, for that matter—had thought or talked about being in an actual house. Or else, if they had, the only images that came to mind were of the places they'd stayed at in the Zones—warehouses, old stores and such—never anything like this. The longer they'd been out of Battery City, the more distant the memories of their original homes were.

"Whoa," Moon breathed, smiling, and then her expression returned to serious as she faced Ashton, almost like she thought that showing she was amazed wasn't something she should do. "You're really nice for doing this. Thank you."

The others either nodded or also thanked him, and the man chuckled softly, holding a hand up. "No worries," he insisted, glancing at the Doc. "Really. It must've been at least a _little _hard getting in here, I mean...I feel like I owe you just for managing it without getting caught. We might just have a chance now." He looked at Gerard for a moment, and then Frank beside him, and the other two on the couch. "And for you guys getting away...with everyone thinking you're dead...when you end up planning something, you've already got something against 'em."

Gerard nodded weakly, holding Frank's hand tighter. What, did the man think they were somehow heroes for running away? People to be looked up to because they'd survived the shit they'd been forced through? "Yeah..." he mumbled, the mere thought of going back up against them frightening. He _couldn't _do that again. No matter what they did, no matter how hard they fought, one or more of them was inevitably going to die. And he just couldn't be responsible for causing that. He couldn't handle anymore guilt than he already had about Missile Kid, about Rejection's brother, about _everyone _they'd lost. It didn't seem to matter if he hadn't even been there to help them anymore—he felt it was his fault and despite trying to convince himself otherwise, that feeling remained, and he truly had begun to wonder if that was something he was simply going to have to live with for the rest of his life.

The door suddenly opened, causing half of them to yelp and jump back, expecting everything to be over in that very instant. But it wasn't a BLI agent standing in the doorway; instead, it was another guy somewhere around thirty, just as surprised to see them as they were of him, reaching up to push his thick, dark, shoulder-length hair out of his face, raising an eyebrow. "Ah, hey?"

"Bert…" Ashton sounded like he was attempting to explain to him it was the worst possible time for him to come by with only the one word.

"Didn't know you were this popular," Bert joked, glancing around at the group of Killjoys.

"Um…" Ashton cleared his throat and then shook his head, grabbing his arm and pulling him further into the apartment so he could shut the door, this time locking it. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Bert laughed, unaffected by his tone. "Good to see you, too."

"I'm not kidding. You said you'd be over _later. _I'd be at work, now, anyway."

"I know where you hide your key." Bert smirked, and then held up the suitcase he'd been holding. It was a long, rectangular shape, and his grunt of effort indicated it was as heavy as it looked. "I brought the b—"

"Great!" Ashton hissed through clenched teeth, and yet Bert only continued through his interruption. "—the bass; where d'ya want it?"

Ashton put a hand to his forehead and heaved a sigh.

"A bass?" Candy asked, interested immediately. "Like…a real one?"

"One of the last ones in the whole city, if I'm not mistaken," Bert stated proudly, moving to lift the case higher and failing, allowing the side to touch the ground again.

"I thought music wasn't allowed?" Rejection said, frowning, and Bert smiled at her. "I still managed to hide it. My dad used to own a music shop. I even played in a band before the fires." He chuckled at the memory. "It was fuckin' awesome. Anyway, Ash's been collecting 'em or something, I—"

"I'm not collecting them!" Ashton insisted, irritated. "I…I just like having them."

Bert made eye contact with Gerard and smiled, nonchalantly looking him over as he spoke to Ashton. "Whatever you call it. I think it's kinda cute."

Gerard shifted his weight and glanced away almost nervously, while Frank's eyes narrowed and he put an arm around the older's waist, having caught the gaze, shooting the newcomer a warning glare to back the fuck off if he'd meant anything by it.

Unfazed, Bert turned to Ashton again as he approached, handing over the case. "All yours."

"And I don't _have _a bass yet," Ashton said. "I wouldn't have asked if I did."

"He's even got a little—oh!"

Ashton smiled as he released the case back into the other's hands, almost bringing him to his knees, and turned to the others himself. "I made one of my rooms soundproof, okay? Hell."

"I didn't know you played anything," Dr. D said, amused by the fact he seemed uncomfortable speaking about it.

"There really isn't a point telling anyone you have talent in the Zones."

"Zones?" Bert echoed, and then gasped, eyes wide in interest. "You're Killjoys?"

"Say it louder," Bullet snapped, "I think BLI had trouble hearing you!"

Bert clenched his teeth and murmured, "Sorry. It's just…no one's seen Killjoys in…shit, I can't even think of how long." He frowned. "Why the hell would you want to stay here? And how'd you even get _in?_"

"Please," Ashton murmured, taking the case from him again, "_never _talk about _any _of this other than here."

"Why would I—"

"Don't act like you don't know what I mean," Ashton snapped. The kid had a big mouth he never seemed to understand how to keep closed. "Shut it when you're not here. Got it?"

"Yeah," he said, and Ashton nodded. "Good. Now, if you wanna stay, that's cool, but I've gotta go." He moved towards the back for a moment, setting the case inside a room before closing the door and facing them all again. "Please…don't leave." He winced, clearly worried about agreeing to what he had. "I'll be back this afternoon. There's food 'n stuff in the kitchen, help yourselves."

He looked at Bell, who he stepped past and subtly mumbled a few words to without leaning towards her at all, then went to the door, this time glaring at Bert. "Keep. The door. _Locked._" he ordered, separating the words for emphasis, and Bert held his hands up like he was surrendering.

Ashton eyed him a moment more and then jerked it open, shutting it and then awaiting the click of the lock before he left.

Bert turned to the Killjoys again, pursing his lips. "So…"

Bullet rolled his eyes, briefly looked at Rejection, shrugged, and then walked into the kitchen, and after a slight hesitation, Justice, Cat, Wire, and the rest besides Mikey, Ray, and Dr. D followed.

"W-we can trust him," Mikey slowly began, "right?"

Dr. D looked at him seriously. "I have before. And I still do."

Like that was all the blonde needed to hear, he stood and limped off, Ray and the Doc closely behind.

Bert sauntered casually over to where Gerard was leaning against the wall, staring at the floor in thought, keeping his head lowered as Bert approached. "I've heard of you," he murmured, eyeing his vividly colored hair. "You were on the news a while ago…Poison, right? Party Poison?"

Gerard swallowed hard and nodded.

"You're pretty famous," Bert continued, his voice even lower. "Their leader, right?"

_Was._ Gerard frowned and then cleared his throat, seeming to gain a bit of confidence. "Yeah, I am," he said, lifting his gaze and jerking back as he realized how close the older was to him, letting out a sharp breath when he only hit the wall instead of getting any further away from him.

"I heard you were dead," Bert said softly, frowning, ignoring the Killjoy's discomfort if he noticed. "Glad that's not true."

"Yeah," Gerard mumbled, wincing, looking towards the kitchen.

"You got a plan 'r somethin'?"

"Stay hidden and alive," Gerard whispered absentmindedly, stepping past him to join the others.

Bert smirked and shrugged. "Cool," he said carelessly, moving off to sit in the living room.

Once the Killjoys had successfully rid themselves of the hunger pangs they'd been feeling, they settled down, relieved they didn't have to solely focus on assuring they weren't caught—it was quite comforting, really. With the thick, dark curtains to all the windows pulled shut, no one below them to hear the innumerable amount of footsteps, and the door locked, it felt...safe, something they weren't used to in the least.

"So," Bert began after a long while of silence, "why _did _you guys come here?"

No one answered for a moment, and then Bullet spoke up with his perpetually sarcastic voice. "'Cause we just really love having to hide from a company who wants us dead in their own damn city."

Show Pony gave him a look, and he rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall he was standing beside.

Skye sweetly corrected the younger Killjoy. "We didn't have a choice."

"What about that one city? The one I've heard about…" Bert trailed off, trying to remember, not seeing how practically all of them solemnly looked away. "…Battery City, right?"

"Battery's gone." Ray murmured when no one else did.

"What do you mean, like—"

"Like _gone _gone," Bullet said austerely. "As in, BLI destroyed it."

Bert seemed startled, his tone for once anything but condescending. "I'm—I didn't know. Sorry."

Bullet shrugged, glancing at the ground and quietly clearing his throat, more caring of it than he would ever admit.

"Shit," Bert mumbled, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "Are you guys planning on getting 'em back for it?" He sat up straight as he got no response, clasping his hands over his knee. "You are gonna do something about them, aren't you?"

Several of the Killjoys exchanged glances of uncertainty, and then DJ cleared her throat. "We haven't thought much about it, really…"

"Why not?"

"Because we almost died last week," Rainbow murmured softly. "It's not that we weren't…or _aren't_…but we haven't got anything planned right now."

Bert chuckled humorlessly. "That's exactly what my old…_friends_ used to say. We always were gonna do something, but…" he sighed. "It's not even that I care about them, they can do whatever the hell they want. Fighting back is just so fucking out there that the people who aren't on meds _joke _about it. I don't know…just…I would love to see someone actually try to take them down."

It was silent for a long minute or so, and then Gerard shifted slightly, trying not to bother Frank, who was leaning against his arm, asleep. He'd been unsuccessful in his attempts to rest much the night before, plagued by the repetitive nightmares, and the red head felt terrible he was unable to do anything to stop them, comforting his boyfriend whenever possible, as it seemed to at least ease his stress when he was around.

"We, ah," he began cautiously, feeling the need to speak up and defend how pointless they sounded right now, "we never said we wouldn't."

Bert looked at him with a small smile. "Sorry, didn't mean to be an ass about it. I…never mind. Forget I mentioned anything, actually."

He stood and swiftly walked into the kitchen, disappearing for a short time as a few cabinets opened and then a glass clinked.

Gerard watched him intently as he returned, holding a glass of clear liquid, and then settled back down in the chair he'd been in, heaving a sigh. "Anyway," he mumbled, taking a drink and not continuing. He noticed the red head staring at him after a moment, trying to figure out if what he had was alcohol or not, and he gestured towards the kitchen with the glass. "Want some?"

Lowering his gaze as several of the Killjoys looked at him, Gerard slipped an arm around Frank's waist and quietly murmured, "No."

Bert shrugged and leaned back, bringing the glass back to his lips, smirking just a bit as he caught the red-haired Killjoy subtly looking at him again out of the corner of his eyes.

* * *

><p>"I can't."<p>

Ashton sighed and set the small box of black hair dye on the counter, looking at Gerard seriously. "You'd rather risk getting all of us caught?"

Gerard shook his head slowly; he knew the man was only trying to assure none of them were noticed. He'd not only managed to get enough hair dye for the ones who had brightly colored theirs, but had even found different pairs of clothes for them to rid the colors.

They had all decided that, for now, until they had all fully regained their health and figured out what to do, they were to blend in as much as possible. Ashton had already agreed to allow them to stay in his apartment, as long as they complied with whatever he told them to do. As in, they had to be as subtle as they could, not leave the house unless they were sure they had no colors or anything else that would bring attention to them on, and whatever else they had to do to guarantee neither them nor Ashton would be caught.

And that of course included them ridding their hair of all color.

"Not everyone in the city has black hair."

"_No one_ has bright red hair." Ashton replied smoothly. "I could hardly find this, or else I would've gotten the color you wanted."

Gerard frowned at the bitter sarcasm. "I don't care about that, I just—" he cut off, blushing as he became aware of how childish he sounded, and Ashton held out the box again, clearly believing the Killjoy's hesitance meant he'd won.

The red head stared at it in irritation, and then Frank slowly came up to them, gently taking the dye and stepping in front of his love. "It's okay," he said, and Gerard shook his head again, whirling around and going into the bathroom.

Frank glanced at Ashton and shrugged before following him and quietly shutting the door behind him, placing the box on the counter and then frowning as he saw Gerard sitting on the edge of the bathtub, his hands in his hair, looking at the ground.

"What's wrong?" he asked, going over to stand beside him, not receiving an answer. "It's not…look, all the others are gonna do it, too. He's just trying to make sure we don't get caught! I mean…" he glanced at his vivid hair. "It _is_ pretty fucking noticeable."

"…Don't understand…" Gerard mumbled.

Frank's frown deepened. "Gee, it's not that big of a—"

"It is, Frank!" Gerard exclaimed, raising his head to glare at him. "It's the last fucking thing I have against BLI!"

Confused, Frank tilted his head. "What?"

"It's all I have left that shows I'm a Killjoy!" He realized Frank still didn't get it, and he lowered his head again. "Fuck it."

"You're still a Killjoy, Gee—"

"Am I?" the red head murmured, barely audible.

Frank bit his lip, sitting next to him and wrapping his arms around his waist. "Yes." he said. "Yes, you are, okay? You're our _leader, _Party. Don't ever think that we don't—that _I _don't—look up to you because of what happened." He paused for a moment. "_Anything _that happened."

Gerard winced and shook his head, and Frank reached up, using two fingers to lift his chin and cause their gazes to meet. "You're still a Killjoy. You're still our leader. It doesn't matter what you look like, okay? And this way it'll be even easier to plan something without being seen."

He smiled slightly. "Everyone thinks we're dead. When we find out what we're doing, that's really gonna be helpful."

Gerard's hazel-green eyes darted away for a moment and then returned. "Okay." He paused and took a breath, beginning to pull away, and then Frank kissed him, tightening his grip like he didn't want him to leave.

The red head tensed and then jerked him closer after a moment in longing. He couldn't quite feel anything again, but he knew what should have been there, and he ignored the numbness, wanting nothing more than to be embraced by his love for now. It made him feel safe and not as worthless as he knew he was.

At last having to stop for air, Gerard smiled and pressed his forehead against Frank's. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Frank breathed, gently placing his hands on his boyfriend's hips. "So much."

Gerard shivered vaguely and then leaned to kiss him again, his fingers ever-so-slightly trailing the sides of the younger's jeans. Frank gave a very short, quiet moan and hooked his leg around the red head's, wrapping his arms around him again as they broke away and nestling his head against his chest, taking a deep breath.

"I'm sorry."

Frank frowned without moving, too comfortable and engrossed with listening to the slow rhythm of his heart. "For what?"

Kissing the top of his head, Gerard sighed softly. "Everything. Just…fucking everything, Frankie, I'm so sorry."

"Nothing that happened was your fault." Frank replied, shifting enough to tilt his chin up and look at him as the older tenderly rubbed his back without replying, clearly thinking the opposite. "It isn't, Gee."

"Okay." Gerard said again, sounding like he was just agreeing to move on from the subject, and Frank abruptly pulled back, putting his arms on his shoulders and forcing him to look directly at him, noting how surprised he became at the sudden actions. "It wasn't your fault. You know that, right?"

Gerard gave a small, very weak smile. "Sure." he nodded, and then before the younger could say another word, he kissed him again, an action that was more so he wouldn't continue than anything else, relieved when he didn't protest.

Frank slowly released him until he was merely gripping his shirt, unsure why he was itching to remove it. Where was he expecting this to go, exactly? He wanted nothing to do with anything even close to what had been forced on them before—it was far too soon for the both of them. But he had a sudden desperate urge to further the actions occurring now, even if only somewhat. He felt too happy, too good right now for it to stop yet. And it wasn't anyone else—it was Gerard, whom he loved more than anyone else he'd ever met. And he'd have to take it off to dye his hair, anyway…

He risked it as they once again paused, their lips still nearly touching, starting to lift Gerard's shirt, and at once the older flinched away. "No!" he whispered urgently, and Frank stood, excitement vanished, horrified he'd done anything. "Gee, I'm so sorry…" he began.

Gerard bit his lip and shook his head. "It—it wasn't…I just…"

Frank's cheeks tinged red in discomfort. "Sorry," he repeated softly, and then turned and fumbled with the door, going out before Gerard could stop him and closing it behind him.

"Shit, Frankie…" Gerard mumbled dejectedly, inwardly cursing himself for reacting so suddenly. He knew what Frank thought the reason for that was, and felt terrible he couldn't explain to him what he'd really been afraid of.

He looked over at the box of dye and sighed, grabbing it and beginning to read over the directions, though had done it enough times to know how to do it by heart, trying to stall what he knew had to happen eventually. He then pulled his shirt over his head, wincing as he finally looked in the mirror on the back of the door. He'd almost believed the window he'd been staring at before had somehow been wrong, but now he only saw it clearer.

His face was littered with bruises, faded and not so faded, and cuts that were either healing still or gone with a noticeable mark. What he saw first was the gash just above his eyebrow from getting hit with the gun, followed by the discoloration of his cheeks due to being struck so often, and then the fact that he had visably lost a little bit of weight, something he'd noticed about the others, as well.

He looked fucking _awful; _that was his one and only conclusion.

He cringed as the memory of each and every strike he'd received in the chair came back to him in a flash, and placed a hand on the sink beside him for support, now eyeing the inch long cut on the left side of his stomach. It was far too obvious it hadn't happened a week ago like the others, at such an angle that it was also clear no one had done it to him. It wasn't deep—he'd only just drawn blood. And it wasn't _too_ recent, as he'd done it just before they'd met Bell and Elise. He just simply wasn't willing to allow Frank or anyone else for that matter to see, understand, and realize how low he'd gone. Them believing the second time had been from tripping was perfectly all right with him.

He ran a hand through his red hair a final time; the last part of him that was rebelling against the shitty company—the last part of Party Poison he could see.

Biting his lip and heaving another sigh, he opened the package and dumped the contents onto the counter before he lost the will to do so.

Nearly two hours of uneasily coloring and washing his hair later, Gerard emerged slowly from the little room, his now jet-black hair dripping slightly darker than usual water onto his shirt.

Immediately the Killjoys ceased talking and turned to look at him, offering encouraging smiles, except for Frank, who only continued staring at the floor, uncomfortably chewing on his bottom lip like he was afraid he would upset someone by raising his gaze.

Gerard tugged on his collar, feeling as if it were choking him, and then walked into the kitchen, sitting at the table, grateful for the wall now separating their stares from him.

He flinched as a hand touched his hair from behind, jerking away and turning to see Bert frowning at him. "What? It looks nice," he said, reaching out again, and Gerard leaned back. "Don't," he said sternly, and Bert rolled his eyes, obeying with a chuckle. "Jesus. You ever chill out?"

"When…" Gerard trailed off his retort as he realized Bert's words had been a bit slurred, noticing the glass in his hand was full again. "You're drunk," he murmured.

"No." Bert smirked. "Not really." He turned to the counter and grabbed a different glass, tipping the tall, skinny bottle of alcohol on the counter over it and filling it nearly to the brim before setting it down in front of the younger. "Drink. You fucking need it."

Gerard stared at the liquid, uncertain. Maybe he did need to simply relax—it was only one glass, anyway; what was the harm in that?

_No. _He'd already stooped to a level he'd never thought he would by hurting himself; he didn't need anything else on his conscience, too.

Bert took the seat next to him. "Like you don't want to. You look like you're gonna cry."

Gerard lowered his head, ashamed he was allowing his emotions to be seen.

The older shrugged. "Whatever. You like being stressed, go for it. Have fun."

He stood and exited Gerard's line of vision, and the now black-haired Killjoy began staring at the glass again.

_Don't need it…_

Almost quicker than he knew what he was doing, he'd reached out and grabbed the cup, bringing it to his lips and downing the contents, wincing at the taste and covering his mouth when he'd finished, the burning in his throat nearly too much for him to handle.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he stood, almost dropping the glass, scowling at Bert, who only kept smirking.

"Don't touch me," Gerard clarified, his voice hoarse.

Bert held his hands up. "Sorry," he giggled, and then pointed at the glass. "You need a hell of a lot more, seriously…"

Gerard looked away and sighed, turning, hating the fact he'd drank it at all, unable to shake the feeling that Bert was still watching him with that smug grin on his face, like he was somehow proud of pressuring him into doing what he had.

'_Excellent, Way.'_

Gerard flinched, feeling his entire being tense up as the hated voice resonated in his mind, and he glanced at the bottle on the counter.

Bert was pointing at the empty glass in his hand a moment later, and Gerard frowned, hesitant, unsure. Then he turned and set it down, pouring more of the liquid into it and leaning back against the counter, lifting it and cautiously sipping as to not choke again.

Bert smirked and took another drink of his own, gesturing at the Killjoy. "Feel better?"

Gerard waited a moment, feeling no different. He'd of course never actually _had _any alcohol before, but he'd expected at least something to happen. Did it take longer? Or…was he simply numb to this, too?

The thought frightened him terribly, and he quickly consumed the rest of the glass, setting it on the table and waiting for it to ease his anxiety, so desperate for it to work that after a moment he truly believed it did, uncertain whether it was merely his mind playing tricks on him or not. He still looked up, not quite smiling and giving a small shrug.

"Yeah, sure…I guess it does."


	17. You Can Find Out First Hand

**A/N: Hah... In case anyone is wondering, YES, the action/BLI ass-kicking-ness will start up again next chapter. Also, about all the angst and whatever I've been/will be continuing to put on Gerard (for a while, not too long...it switches off to another character then ;D). If any of you really want to know the main reason for all of it, aside from a lot of it actually being symptoms of having gone through a traumatic experience (that I researched so everything is as real as possible), it's because I've been going through a really stressful and hard time, and am/was struggling with a lot of the depression and whatnot I wrote Gerard (and some of the others) going through. I tend to write my real-life issues into my stories when I get really stressed, as a sort of therapy for myself to get through it. And not only does he eventually get through it, but I'm working on the same. :)**

**And if you, by any chance, are going through anything similar or hard or whatever, the MCRmy is here for you. (Look up MCRmyHelpline on Twitter, they have a link to their FB page and an email address on there, too.) We're not 'just another fandom', we're not a cult, we're not suicide-promoters, and we sure as hell aren't here just for the popularity of the band. We're a family, and families not only stick together for as long as they're around, but they help each other. Through whatever's wrong, through whatever problem, through whatever situation you're in. We love you and we want to help. But the first thing you have to do is realize you need to ask for it. **

**"This band is for fucking life. It's like a life sentence, and a life sentence isn't always a bad fucking thing, because we all get to be in this fucking cell together." And I really hope all of you realize that I, that we, that MCR, that the MCRmy, want to make sure none of you get out of your life sentence early.**

Chapter Seventeen

You Can Find Out First Hand What It's Like To Be Me

It was very early in the morning still when Gerard awoke, groggily attempting to reach up and rub his eyes, frowning when he couldn't. It took him a moment to realize the reason was Frank, who was lying beside him on the couch, curled up so close he was half on top of him, his arms tightly wrapped around him, a slightly troubled expression on his face.

The twenty-four-year-old sighed softly, raising his head as much as he could to look around, noticing most of the Killjoys were still sleeping, sprawled on the floor or other pieces of furniture. In the background he could vaguely hear talking, but didn't know who it was or what they were saying, their words mumbled and incoherent.

He shifted a bit, trying not to wake his love, quickly glancing up again as he almost literally _felt _someone staring at him, noticing Bert regarding them without emotion as he walked past and into another room.

Gerard frowned, remembering at once what had happened the night before. He'd only had three glasses or so—that wasn't wrong, was it? He didn't feel sick or anything, and had barely gotten woozy the night before. He was also sure he'd willingly chosen to sleep when he had, which wouldn't have been the case if he'd gotten incredibly drunk.

Or...would it? He had no experience with alcohol, and had never planned to, honestly. It was a shitty way to ignore the problems in life, and the effects only lasted a little while. Sure it'd felt nice because it'd relieved some of his stress—or else, he _thought _it had—but he was almost completely sure he shouldn't allow himself to do it again. Not when he was the one supposed to be coming up with what they were to do.

And anyway, it was obvious Frank wasn't still upset about before, which gave him no particular reason to want to again.

He moved once more, wincing as Frank mumbled, "Don't…"

For a moment, he thought the younger had woken up, but then he looked at him, noticing tears silently streaming from his still-closed eyes, his teeth clenched like he was in pain.

"Frankie," Gerard managed to get his arms free, shaking him gently, and the boy cringed at his touch, giving a soft cry. "Wake up!"

Frank took a sharp breath and winced, his eyes blinking open in confusion and fear. "Gee—"

"It's okay. It was just a dream."

Burying his face in the crook of his love's neck, Frank stifled a whimper and muttered, "N-no. No, it wasn't."

It hardly took a second to register what that meant, and Gerard hugged him tighter. "It's over." he said, and then hesitated before speaking again. He wanted to assure the younger Killjoy that the man would never touch him again, that Gerard wouldn't _let _him, but the words caught in his throat, a wave of self-consciousness washing over him. God, what would the others think if they heard—if they knew what the agent had done to them?

No, he couldn't let them know—could _never _let them know. They'd realize how weak he'd been—that it'd been his fault Frank had gone through it, too. They'd never look up to him again!

_Is that such a bad thing?_

Frank's trembling still hadn't faded, and he cursed silently. _Say it! Comfort him!_

But he simply couldn't, remaining silent and gently rubbing his boyfriend's back to calm him, thankful that he did stop shivering after another minute or two, though the younger did not move or relax his grip even then. It was a relief to have a few moments he felt safe, and he didn't want it to end so soon. "…Love you."

Gerard closed his eyes, feeling he'd been of no help. Why did he have to be so fucking useless? "I love you, too. More than anything."

At last, his breathing more calm, Frank released him, pulling back to look at him and then sitting up, his eyes closed.

Already missing the embrace, Gerard watched him for a moment before reaching out to place a hand on his side, jerking it back as, the moment he touched him, Frank gasped and recoiled as if the older had struck out in his direction, jumping off the couch and to his feet in the same instant.

Hurriedly facing him again and seeming just as surprised as Gerard, his eyes wide in both regret and fear, Frank opened his mouth to say something, though nothing but a sigh came out after a moment, and he averted his gaze.

"Frankie…" Gerard began, his brow furrowed in concern, but the younger turned before he could continue, walking past the Killjoys and to the bathroom in the hall, quietly shutting the door.

Gerard frowned and sat up, shaking his head after a moment and running a hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes, glancing at the small amount of dye that smudged on his hands, looking almost like he'd been handling charcoal.

"Still looks nice."

He knew it was Bert before he even looked up, frowning at the older boy as he came out of wherever he'd been before, leaning against the wall beside the couch, grinning at him.

"Thanks," he murmured slowly, uneasily, averting his gaze as Bert leisurely looked him over, not seeming to notice how uncomfortable it made the Killjoy or otherwise completely enjoying it.

"It looked cute red, too."

Gerard shrugged, stiffening as he stepped closer and frowned. "Why're you so scared of me?"

"I'm not scared of you!" Gerard hissed, fed up. "I have a fucking boyfriend—you know that, right?"

Bert tensed up like he was offended. "You think I was trying to get with you?" He chuckled softly as Gerard blushed furiously. "Lose that funny thing you do with your lip when you talk and _maybe_."

Gerard flinched and reached up to cover his mouth, startled at the sudden insult. He'd never cared much about it before—hadn't even _noticed _it, really—and yet at the mention of it, he recalled having frequently been made fun of for it back when he'd lived in the city, before the fires, even.

"It's not cute, it's weird." Bert continued, aware he'd found something against him. He hated being called out on things, and the fact that he got angrily defensive whenever that happened may have been the reason almost no one, even his own brother, cared to actually talk to him. "Don't get me wrong," he stepped closer, reaching out with a finger to stroke Gerard's cheek and smirking as he instantaneously jerked back. "You're fucking adorable." He leaned towards him a bit. "But you're gonna have to fix a few things for me to _really _want you. I'm a little too good for you."

He rolled his eyes and turned around, heading towards the door, and a few moments after he'd closed it fairly loudly, Ashton poked his head out from behind the wall of the kitchen, frowning. "Was that Bert?"

Gerard slowly nodded, and Ashton eyed him. "You okay?"

"Yeah." the Killjoy mumbled, and the man shrugged, going back into the kitchen.

Too good for him? Was _Frank _too good for him, too? And _"fix_ a few things"—what the hell else was wrong with him?

"Gee,"

He blinked and turned to Frank as he called him, not even having the urge to smile when he saw his love was doing so, unlike any other time. The twenty-year-old had a smile that was utterly infectious, and more than that, he no longer looked afraid, something that should've made him happier immediately.

But the smile disappeared as he saw that Gerard was distressed, and he sat back next to him, a hand finding his free one. "Are you okay?"

The older Killjoy nodded, and Frank reached up to gently take his hand off of his mouth, frowning as his effort was vaguely struggled against before Gerard willingly dropped it to his lap, biting his tongue.

"…Are you sure?" Frank asked uncertainly, cocking an eyebrow and tilting his head slightly.

"Mm-hm," Gerard forced a diffident smile. "I'm fine."

Whatever confidence he'd gained for a moment vanished as Frank's gaze went to his lips. _Oh shit— _

He began to move away until Frank grabbed his wrist and pulled him back to kiss him. The older's eyes fluttered closed, but he felt nothing, even as Frank gently squeezed his waist, unable to even bring himself to return it with enthusiasm. It wasn't that he didn't like it, it was just...well, he didn't quite know _what _it was. It was like he'd forgotten how loving him was supposed to feel.

"Whoa," Wire murmured jokingly from the floor, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

Gerard insecurely turned away, and Frank kissed his cheek. "Are you _sure?_"

"Yes!" he exclaimed suddenly, standing and walking past the others to the bathroom, relieved he could be alone. He stared at the mirror for a long few minutes, mouthing sentences and aiming to stop the left side of his bottom lip from curving in as he did so. It was impossible—he hadn't any control over it. It was just part of him.

And that was all right, wasn't it?

He looked his reflection up and down, feeling anger and confusion building up inside of him.

_You're fine. You're not anything anyone says except _you. _You can't change that—you're fine!_

He turned and gripped the side of the sink with one hand, pushing back his hair with the other. The words meant shit to him. He was just numb—numb from anything but fear and anger and absolutely _nothing _could make the feeling come back, not even kissing the one person he loved more than anything.

He clenched his teeth, furious, glaring back at the mirror in utter hatred, resisting the urge to smash the entire thing so he wouldn't have to face himself anymore.

_Why'd you let it happen, huh? _he demanded, thinking to how Frank had flinched away from him. That was _his Goddamn fault. _Frank was suffering because of Gerard's own weakness, his inability to have saved him.

_Why did you let him hurt Frank? Hurt _everyone?_ You pathetic son of a bitch! You're useless—_

'—_insignificant, incompetent—absolutely nothing.'_

Gerard groaned and shook his head, his vision blurring, feeling a sharp, familiar, stabbing pain go up his arm.

'_Just like your friends, your brother, your allies, and your parents—and you'll never be anything more!'_

The pain worsened until he suddenly couldn't stand, collapsing to the tile and curling into a ball, unreservedly terrified because all he was aware of was being back in the room, helpless and agonized, with Korse spitting insults at him.

'_I should kill you—'_

Gerard let out a shriek, writhing. "Frankie…"

'_The world will be so much better off when you're dead.'_

"Gerard!" he heard vaguely, believing it once again to be Frank calling out for help and him being powerless to do anything.

_I'm sorry…I'm trying!_

Then he flinched and cried out as somebody grabbed him, holding him very close and speaking words he couldn't comprehend as more than distant murmurs for several moments.

"…here, Gee. I'm here. It's—"

"It hurts—" Gerard whimpered, squirming like that would get him away from the pain, wanting nothing more than for it all to end. "P-please!"

"You're safe! Nothing is hurting you! I promise—you're safe!"

He didn't notice the agony leave him, nor did he feel a warm hand gently caressing his cheek to calm him. All he knew was that he wasn't being hurt—Korse wasn't there. He was safe, and more importantly, _Frank_ was safe.

"You're safe, baby," Frank repeated, sounding strangely distant, like he talking from the other end of a tunnel. "I'm right here, okay? It's okay…"

The voice dropped out for a brief moment, faded back in, and then the red head sagged in Frank's arms as reality died out completely into a silent, almost comforting oblivion.

* * *

><p>"But he's gonna be okay, right?"<p>

Dr. D sighed; Mikey could not for the life of him seem to listen to what the man had explained happened, assuring him Gerard would be fine several times already. "Yes, Kobra. He's gonna be fine."

Mikey heaved a long breath of relief, glancing over at his brother on the other side of the room, who was still deathly pale, yet had thankfully not given any other sign of discomfort. In fact, as he sat on the couch, a glass of water at his lips despite not drinking any, his gaze on the wall behind everyone else, Mikey realized he didn't remember what had happened not twenty minutes ago. Dr. D had said something about that, though he'd barely been paying attention, and yet, he'd thought he would've recalled _something _upon awakening. But he'd said nothing of it, in a sort of daze but otherwise all right, frowning whenever any of them glanced his way like he hadn't any idea why they were acting so concerned. No one had brought it up directly, and Dr. D had nodded at them in a silent conformation once they'd realized that it was something they were going to have to pretend never happened, for the Killjoy's sake.

Personally, Mikey had thought flashbacks only happened when sleeping, as nightmares, and that the full-blown, wide-awake ones were just from the movies. They were a symptom of traumatic experience, usually, and while he knew Gerard had been treated terribly during their capture, he'd believed he was getting better, not still suffering.

"I didn't think he'd been through anything traumatizing enough to cause that," DJ had murmured softly after they'd laid Gerard on the couch, discomfited just from the horrified scream the Killjoy had given that they'd all heard. She hadn't noticed the glance she'd gotten from the twenty-year-old across the room, who'd then shaken his head and not raised his gaze again, holding Gerard's hand and yet, even after he'd woken up, never getting too close in a fear of anything else being triggered. He hated what his love had been forced through—whatever had happened before what Korse had done _along _with that, and the fact Missile Kid had fucking _died _in his arms—it was no wonder he was acting so frightened and confused and angry.

"What happened?" Gerard finally murmured softly after his brother cast what must have been the hundredth worried glance at him, looking at his boyfriend and squeezing his hand, sensing something was wrong and yet not quite able to put his finger on it.

Frank hesitated before meeting his eyes, and then bit his lip. "Nothing." he replied, giving a reassuring squeeze back and forcing a smile. "Don't worry about it."

Gerard frowned, looking like he was going to do just that anyways, and Frank gave a long sigh, watching him put the glass to his lips once more and then facing the others, noticing that none of them looked at them again.

_Nothing at all._

* * *

><p>"So," Ashton began, unlocking the door to the room he held his instruments in, out of sight from anyone but him. "Any of you guys ever play before?"<p>

Despite everyone except Bullet, Elise, Bell, and Bert having been interested in following him once Candy had questioned him about his 'collection', none of them could answer, in awe as Ashton clicked a light on.

Inside were eight or so instruments leaned against either the wall or on makeshift stands; the bass Bert had given him along with an amp, four guitars with two amps, a very shitty looking drum set (that seemed to be missing something even with their poor experience with them) a keyboard, and a broken violin.

"Where'd you get these?" Note gasped, intrigued.

Ashton chuckled softly. "Over the couple years I've been here…I don't know really. Bert's brought me most of them. His dad used to own a music shop, and he's had 'em for a while. Pretty sure he doesn't play, though." He shrugged. "Neither do I, really, I mean…I've had those drums longer than the rest, but it's hard to practice much more than tapping."

"Didn't you say the room was soundproof?" Candy asked quietly, and Ashton nodded. "As much as it can be, and I don't think anyone would hear, but…when I could be jailed for it, it's damn hard no matter what."

Ray leaned against the wall and then bent forward to gently tug on one of the guitar's strings, frowning as he could somehow recall the notes it was supposed to make, looking at Ashton. "It's already tuned."

Ashton seemed impressed. "Bert did the best he could from memory. How'd you know?"

Ray shrugged slightly. "I might've played a little…back before it was banned, in Battery."

Gerard gave Frank a small smile. He remembered very clearly that his love had been interested in the guitar as well, beaming at the praise Gerard would give whenever he had played for him.

Grinning a bit, like the memory had been mutual, Frank gently took his hand as he at once missed that. Not having to worry about being killed or shot at or captured for information…he almost wished it could be that simple again. He _did _wish it could be—maybe nothing would have happened to them that way.

He then stepped towards the electric guitar closest to him, almost without knowing, and cautiously murmured, "Can I…?"

Ashton hesitantly gave him a nod. "Just…be careful."

Frank gently lifted the instrument off the rest and kneeled, placing it on his lap and reaching his arms around it. He took the cord to the amp and glanced around for an outlit, bending back as much as he could manage once he'd noticed it on the wall behind him to plug it in, carefully attatching the other to the end of the guitar, and then assured the volume was turned to an almost non-existent level before he finally played a note, closing his eyes as he shivered. _God_ he had missed that sound.

He struggled to remember a chord, or some of a song, and then he made eye contact with Gerard, lips pursed in a bit of thought before he grinned and started clumsily strumming it, watching Gerard remain uncertain for a moment before he gave a half-smile.

"I know that song!" Cat giggled. "What was that band...ACDC?" She smiled a bit at the memory of how her father had been insistent on catching her up on all the music from before she had been born whenever he could, lecturing her on the history of each and every band he could.

_And I got annoyed at him._

Her smile disappeared. Though she'd had a fairly good relationship with her father, there had been many times it was less than so. They had disagreed a lot, and it had gotten worse a few years ago, when she'd started refusing to take her medication, prompting her escape.

She wouldn't have been irritated at his almost constant monologues now...in fact, she missed them. Missed them more than she would ever be able to tell him.

Candy must've seen something in her expression change, because she reached out and gently took her hand, offering a comforting arm that Cat gratefully allowed her to place around her, focusing back on the present.

Killjoys who remained caught up in the past and regrets were killed, and unfortunately, they would all have to come to realize that. They couldn't solely think about how their families and former lives were gone forever; they had to assure it happened to no one else, that no other childhood or life was ripped away by the company. And they would, too; they would find someway to help. She was absolutely sure of it.

Frank continued right on with his playing, staring at Gerard, his smile increasing, and then the twenty-four-year-old actually laughed. It startled Frank so much he nearly stopped—he hadn't heard that laugh in too long. "I'm on the Highway to Hell," he sang, hoarsely and yet in tune, and Gerard chuckled again. It had been the first song Frank had learned on guitar, and he'd honestly never been more proud of any other accomplishment once he had mastered it.

The chords got closer together and more in rhythm as Frank recalled them better, and by now all of them were smiling, the pure joy of hearing someone play music, and play right in front of them…it was almost overwhelming.

Mikey shifted like he wanted to say something and then didn't, biting his lip. He knew the song, and had learned the song on the only instrument he'd ever known how to play, the bass. And he was under a wave of excitement, desperately wanting to play as well, but knew he couldn't. He wouldn't remember, or else he'd forget if he tried. He didn't like people looking at him, watching, waiting for him to make a mistake. He'd never even played for Gerard before due to this very fear he'd always had, one that always came up, even when music wasn't involved and mere interaction with other people was.

His brother apparently noticed him staring anxiously at the bass, and he gestured at it.

Mikey immediately froze, frightened before he even looked at the thing. "No," he mumbled, and Gerard frowned. "Didn't you play?"

Mikey shook his head. "Not—not _good _I didn't."

Ray nudged his shoulder affectionately. "I'm sure you're great," he offered.

"Gee, no," the blonde insisted, and Gerard lowered his hand. "Sorry."

The blonde shrugged and looked away, and suddenly Gerard felt guilty. He was such an idiot; why did he think suggesting his exceedingly shy and nervous younger brother to do something that would cause everyone to look at him was a good idea?

He looked back at Frank as he continued playing, thrilled he was making everyone happy, and then turned, moving past the others to leave. Frank stopped playing and frowned, mouth open to say something to him, but Gerard was gone before he could, closing the door behind him.

The red head sighed quietly after a moment and then began to walk into the living room, rolling his eyes as he saw Bert talking to Bullet. _Yeah,_ he thought, annoyed. _He really needs more ideas on how to be a complete asshole._ He had already irritated them all enough—maybe that was why he was getting along with Bert so easily. It was still confusing to him how Ashton put up with Bert being an absolute jerk to everyone he could.

_Unless it's just me, _he thought flatly. It wasn't such an insane idea—he hadn't seen him insult any of the others.

_Or touch them. _

He cringed in disgust, going back into the hallway and leaning against the wall, closing his eyes in the near-complete silence he half never wanted to end.

"Party?"

Gerard glanced over to see Elise looking up at him, a cute smile on her face, her eyes lit up. "Yeah?" he murmured sadly.

Elise frowned suddenly, concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Gerard replied, though wasn't at all, even less so as she came up to him. He couldn't look at her without remembering Missile Kid…remembering how he'd failed her.

"You and that other guy…are you, y'know, _together?_"

Startled by the question, Gerard hesitated. "Yeah…why?"

Elise innocently shook her head. "Nothing. I was just wondering." She pursed her lips to the side for a moment, like she was contemplating whether or not to continue. "Was…that allowed in Battery City?"

Gerard swallowed hard. "No. Is it here?"

"No." she answered with a sigh. "I saw…" she trailed off for a long moment, her eyes on the wall behind him. "I saw two people get dragged away by Watchers because they were guys and they…kissed."

She raised her gaze to meet his, with stunning intensity that alarmed him. "Why do they even care?" she murmured, her eyes watering. "Why do they care who loves who? It's not like they were hurting anyone!"

Gerard widened his eyes as tears were suddenly flowing down her cheeks, and he got to his knees, slowly bringing her into a hug." Ssh, it's okay…"

"No…they took them, and I'll never see them again!" she mumbled, and with a pang of horror, Gerard abruptly understood who the girl was talking about.

"Never," Elise shook her head. "They took them and they're not coming back."

"You don't know that," Gerard tried, and Elise gave another sob. "I do. I've been waiting as long as I've been with Bell—almost two years—and I haven't seen them. They're not back at our house, they're not anywhere—they're _gone_."

Gerard was trembling a bit now as well, memories of his and Frank's awful difficulty back in Battery flooding through his mind. Had BLI killed them? No, not even they would go as far as that. They were fucked up, but not _that _fucked up.

Or at least, he prayed they weren't.

"People are sent to Correction Centers for that...are you sure they're not still in one of those?"

"For two _years?_" Elise let out a short, miserable laugh. "They wouldn't keep them that long."

"Maybe they did," Gerard insisted. "They don't have to be dead. You could find them again, okay?"

Elise vaguely shook her head but did not protest the idea more than that, stepping back after a moment, her gaze on the floor as he released her.

"It'll be okay," he said comfortingly. "We'll…we'll find a way to find them."

"You can't," she murmured, biting her lip, and he looked at her."We will. I promise. Once we figure out what we're doing, we'll find them."

Elise hesitated, clearly disbelieving they would, and then leaned to hug him again anyway. "Thank you," she said quietly, and the resemblance of her tone caused Gerard to indistinctly shudder, remembering the day everything had gone wrong, where he'd been waiting for Missile outside the bathroom of Dr. D's place.

_"We're safe, okay? There's nothing to be worried about right now."_

_"I know, but still…can you stay?"_

_"Of course, I'll be right here."_

_"Thank you."_

He felt Elise pull back, and he protectively almost held onto her longer, releasing her as she smiled at him. Her eyes then went to the door he'd just come out of. "What're they doing?"

"Playing music," Gerard replied after a moment, acknowledging how nice it felt to have the ability to say that again. "You wanna hear?"

Elise nodded, and he gestured towards the room, standing as she wiped her eyes and went off.

He bit his lip and then turned to go, jerking to a stop as he was suddenly in front of Bell, who appeared almost irritated, along with sad. "What?" he asked slowly, stepping back, and she shrugged. "I thought she'd let that go a while back."

"Would you if it were _your _parents?"

"Hell yes I would." She frowned after a second and sighed. "Sorry. It's just…I'd hate for her to have to be disappointed if…"

"I'll try," Gerard said. "_We'll_ try."

"I know. It's just…I don't think she could go through getting her hopes up and then losing them again."

"I was trying to help," Gerard frowned, and she shrugged again. "Sometimes helping is letting someone know what's wrong."

"So you think they're dead?"

She didn't reply for a moment, shoving her hands into her pockets. "I don't know what I think. I just know it took two years for me to finally convince her to try and move on. Please…don't make her have to go through that again by making promises you can't keep."

"Why can't I?" Gerard asked, a bit aggravated, and Bell walked past him without responding at all this time, going off to where the twelve-year-old had, and Gerard scowled, making his way into the kitchen to get something to drink, the anger building as he saw Bert standing by the wall leading to it, watching him and possibly everything that had just happened. "Nice."

"Can't you leave me alone?" Gerard snapped coldly, walking past him without waiting for an answer.

"Aw, getting annoyed with me?" Bert pursed his lips and followed him. "You're too cute."

"Thanks so much!" Gerard spat. "Go piss off someone else—Ashton, so he won't let you back here." He grinned sardonically, glancing at the older boy. "Yeah, please—that's a great idea."

Bert only grinned, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Haven't fixed your lip yet, hmm?"

Ignoring the self-consciousness he'd become all too familiar with, Gerard growled, "Fuck off."

"Ooh, hurtful," Bert mocked, crossing his arms as the Killjoy opened the fridge, taking another direction in his taunts, seeing what other areas the boy was sensitive in. "Not getting something to eat, I hope?"

Gerard straightened up to glare at him. "What?"

Bert smirked again. He was too easily amused by making anyone he could uncomfortable or uneasy—especially the Killjoy. It may have been because he truly _did _think he was a little attractive, or that he was envious that the other boy had him and clearly had no plans of giving him up, or maybe it was just that he had nothing better to do. Making him squirm gave him more or less the same thrill drugs had at one point before the ban on them had forced him to…_mostly _sober up. "It's just…you really don't need it." he finally said, shrugging, his tone derisive.

Gerard's brow furrowed in confusion just long enough for Bert to realize he'd hit something, and then the younger muttered something that sounded like, "I don't care."

"That's obvious. _Really _obvious." Bert almost smirked as the Killjoy shuddered, shutting the fridge with a bottle of water in his hands. "You probably should, though."

"Fuck off!" the Killjoy said again, the intensity of his words higher than before, and Bert sighed. "I'm just saying, you should probably lose this." He quickly reached out to pinch Gerard's side, and the Killjoy gasped, whirling back to face him, eyes wide as the older boy leaned back again, smiling innocently. "It's not attractive."

"Leave me alone," Gerard warned angrily.

"I thought you wanted to be perfect so your little boyfriend loves you. I was just trying to help."

Gerard snorted, mockingly looking him over as he always did to him. "I don't need your 'help.'" he spat, air quoting the last word and then glaring at him. "You wouldn't know _shit _about being perfect."

"Neither would you, _Party._" Bert straightened up, irked. "'Cause you're nowhere near it. Honestly, I don't know how he doesn't dump your irritating little ass." He paused. "Or maybe he's smart, and will."

Gerard stared at him, clutching the bottle tighter, and then at once threw it at him, hitting him in the mouth and not even realizing what he'd done until Bert shouted and bent over, both hands over his lip.

Startled, Gerard stepped back. "I—I didn't—"

Bert interrupted him with a string of muffled curses, and suddenly he heard Bullet's voice exclaim, "What the hell?" as he went over to Bert, regarding the twenty-four-year-old in utter confusion. "Did you hit him?"

"N-no, I—"

Bullet waved a hand to cut him off, clearly uncaring of what he had to say, calling for Dr. D as he led Bert out of the kitchen.

Gerard remained frozen, staring at the several drops of blood on the tile, nausea rising up in him.

_What'd I just do?_

He groaned quietly and looked around, frantically trying to think, and then his knees went weak and he had to sit down at the table, burying his head in his arms, unable to catch his breath. No matter how insulting the bastard had been, he hadn't meant to hurt him. It was what he had said that set him off. He couldn't lose Frank—he just couldn't. He was the only thing Gerard could think of that made him happy; or at least, what he _believed _was happy. He couldn't feel it, but he tried to, and thought he might have sensed something a few times. But he didn't know anymore—he honestly just _didn't _know.

"Poison, what happened?" Rainbow tried quietly as she approached him, and Gerard didn't answer, shaking his head slightly.

"Why'd you hit him?"

Shit—she knew already. She was going to tell him how he wasn't fit to be their leader, that he was nothing but an idiot.

It was all true, but he didn't want to hear it.

He stood without looking at her and eyed the door. He wanted to leave; to get away from everyone and just be alone, yet he couldn't. What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he feeling so completely out of control?

He felt tears well up behind his eyes, and he blinked hard, walking past the bemused Killjoy and going into the bathroom, barely having time to shut the door before he couldn't hold them back, sinking to his knees and pressing his forehead to the mirror, his eyes screwed shut. What had happened to Party Poison? He sure as hell wasn't in him anymore. Party Poison wasn't weak, or scared, or constantly angry enough to hurt someone. He would _never _hurt someone else, in fact—unless it had been someone trying to hurt _him _or who he loved.

_Except for Korse. You couldn't hurt him, could you? _

He stifled a cry of pure frustration and dug into his pocket, taking out the small shard of glass he'd forgotten about until now, staring at the sharp edge of it, his breaths coming in shallow gasps, beginning to make him dizzy. Something shouted at him not to do what he so desperately wanted to, and he ignored it.

_I've hurt everyone else, who the hell cares? I deserve it._

He eyed his arm, the question of how exactly he was going to hide it never crossing his mind, holding it out in front of him and pressing the glass next to the other mark, applying pressure and dragging it along in a straight line for a moment until the pain lessened his anger, and he at last let out a loud sigh, slumping back against the wall, again feeling a small sense of relief that he in fact _could _feel. Even if it was only pain, it still meant he _wasn't _entirely numb, and unfortunately feeling that was still better than nothing at all.

_Control. _That's all he fucking wanted. He wanted control over anything he felt he could, and since that sure as hell wasn't his emotions, choosing when and in what place the little beads of red oozed from his skin would have to be sufficient for now.

He stared for a moment before finally realizing he should tend to it, reaching out with a wince to grab a handful of toilet paper and holding it to the wound. He'd barely drawn blood, so it wasn't deep enough that it would cause a problem, and that was all he cared about for now.

He held any sound of discomfort inside and closed his eyes, leaning back again until his breathing steadied, then raising his head again and staring at the mirror beside him. He was soglad they'd never had them out in the zones. He hadn't seen himself in quite possibly years beside the glances he took in the rear view mirror of their Trans-Am—and it was probably for the better. Every time he'd seen himself over the past days, he'd hated it—there was always something else he saw that he didn't like. Something else he saw that _Frank _might not like. He couldn't risk losing the only thing he had left—that simply wasn't an option.

He shook his head, turning away. How the hell had anyone ever looked up to him…?

"Gee?" Frank called, tapping on the door. "Gee, can I come in?"

"Please don't." Gerard swallowed back tears as they stung his eyes again.

"Are you okay?"

Gerard shook his head, feeling them fall down his cheeks against his will.

_No. No, Frank, I'm not o-fucking-kay. Trust me; I'm not._

"Yeah," he said shakily. He wouldn't weigh anyone else down with his problems. He _refused _to. He was their leader—used to be, still was, whatever. It didn't matter. He couldn't let them know he how helpless he felt and probably _was_ if they were ever to look up to him again. He bit his tongue and pressed harder on the cut, unable to think of anything but how pathetic he was for having done it to himself.

_Again._

"I'm just great."


	18. Don't Go, You Won't Come Back

**A/N/TRIGGER WARNING: Okay, so, I'm pretty sure when as many warnings as I need to put in the summary don't even _fit _anymore, I have too many. -.- Anyway...trigger warning on the next few chapters for a mild-ish eating disorder.**

**Chapter title is from the song They Say You Won't Come Back by Breathe Carolina.**

Chapter Eighteen

Don't Go, You Won't Come Back

It was official. Frank absolutely loathed the night.

He hated sleeping—no, he hated dreaming and not being _able_ to sleep. He didn't like being tired, either, of course, but it was a better alternative to going through what he had almost every time he allowed himself to fall asleep. He'd already gone through it too many times—he couldn't stand knowing it would only happen again.

He shifted his position lying on the floor, pressing his back to the cold wall, releasing a long, silent breath. He knew he couldn't stay awake forever. It'd now been somewhere around five days that they had been staying at Ashton's, and not one night had he slept more than two hours. Maybe if he finally passed out from exhaustion he'd be able to rest without the nightmares; or at least, he hoped he would.

The truth was, he hadn't known how much what Korse had done to both him and Gerard had affected him. Clearly, he was just as appalled and disgusted as Gerard was, but it'd done more than injure them physically. He'd been trying to ignore it in himself until now, or at least, trying to forget it so he could function normally, but he couldn't now—not when he was so tired that he could hardly think straight.

He was _terrified_; of being captured again, of being _hurt _again, of Gerard being hurt again…of everything, really.

_Gerard..._

God, what was he doing? Thinking only about himself when Gerard had been through the same and worse? If _he _was feeling like this, he couldn't imagine how Gerard felt about it. And while he'd been trying to be there if the older needed to talk or to be comforted or anything, Gerard had noticeably started to pull away from him and the others, hardly speaking and almost never smiling, both of which upset Frank terribly. The twenty-four-year-old refused to acknowledge anything was wrong, however, even when asked, and Frank couldn't help but wonder if that's just how he was going to be from now on, jumpy and sad and only halfheartedly kissing back whenever Frank tried to cheer him up.

No...that couldn't be right. They'd get through it eventually. They just_ had_ to; they'd been through bad things before and made it okay...

_Not being _raped _by our fucking enemy._

He shook his head, tensing up as tears started flowing out of his eyes. He would _never _be able to let that go. Not ever, no matter what, and he feared it would be the same for his love, maybe worse with whatever else had happened over those days to him.

The mere thought caused a dull pain to shoot through the lower part of him, where he'd ached for days afterward, and he drew his knees to his chest, letting out a soft whimper. The man could have done anything else—_anything_—and they would have been able to start the process of forgetting. Mikey and Ray clearly already had, and were doing a damn good job at moving on, too. Even Rejection was slowly getting better.

He would do anything for them both to do so, as well; anything to stop the vivid images in his mind from reiterating when he closed his eyes, to stop whatever was wrong with Gerard and make him happy again. He'd make them both forget it ever happened if he could. He struggled to do just that around the others, never showing how scared he felt; he refused to. If that meant denying what had occurred during the day, when he could, then so be it; that way he could be looked up to again. Because right now…he felt what had happened to him had taken that away—temporarily or forever, he wasn't sure.

God how he wanted to kill the agent. He wanted to torture him, to make him suffer like he had them—permanently fuck up his mind and then end him all together.

And even that wouldn't do the situation justice. Korse had practically destroyed him and Gerard as he'd been forced to endure and watch, powerless, and, no matter how much revenge he took on the man, it simply wouldn't erase that from his mind.

He shuddered, blinking hard as his eyes started to close. _Please, _something in his head begged him, _please sleep._

Frank fought against it desperately. No; he wasn't safe! He would never be when sleeping—never!

He sat up as he started losing, clenching his teeth, and then his gaze landed on Gerard, who was on his side under the window, his back facing him.

Frank slowly stood, dizzy from his grogginess, and went over to him, leaning over to see his face, whispering, "Gee?"

Gerard didn't respond, his eyes closed, and Frank carefully stepped over him, kneeling and then lying down in the space between the twenty-four-year-old and the wall. He pressed his back against his love, smiling a bit at the comfort of being next to the two things he knew for sure would never hurt him. Safe—he was safe here.

Then he sighed softly, at last giving up and allowing himself to slip into the darkness awaiting, never feeling Gerard reach an arm around him, kissing the back of his head without saying a word and then drifting back into sleep.

* * *

><p>Mikey clasped his hands together, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his legs, staring at the stand he was sitting in front of, itching to pick up the bass he had yet to look away from. He was alone in the room, and the door was closed—so why was he still scared? He wanted to feel what Frank clearly had; happiness of being able to play again, the sensation of the instrument in his arms.<p>

He did miss playing; it had always been a sort of stress reliever for him. He'd continuously heard music was great for that, be it playing an instrument, listening to it, or singing. Of course, Mikey couldn't sing—that had always been more of his brother's area of expertise—and unless it involved some sort of movement, like at a concert, he couldn't simply _listen _to music and be calmed. He hated sitting still, and he was pretty sure that would never change. Even when he'd been a child, with an _excuse _to be hyper, he'd still been a little too energetic. He'd at least calmed his urge to act without thinking, uncertain if it had been the fact that he'd nearly died several times because of it or something else, and didn't miss it either way.

But now, he somewhat wished that he still had a bit of that left. He'd been doing nothing but thinking for what must have been thirty minutes, alone and able to play at any point and yet afraid to. He'd specifically gotten up earlier than the others to assure he had time, and he could just now see light beginning to peak through the miniscule cracks in the closed blinds, hinting to him that he was running out of that time to be left to himself.

He hesitated a moment longer before at last he gave into the desire, reaching out to grab it, plugging it up to the bass amp Bert had brought with it, lowering the level so only he would hear it, and then at last struck a chord, letting out a huff of laughter as the sound reached his ears.

He thought for a moment and then positioned his thin fingers on the neck, slowly going through a few notes with no particular rhythm at the moment, and then suddenly didn't care that he could not recall the bass line to the song. This was still music, music _he _was creating, and that was more than enough for him.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Mikey stiffened, nearly dropping the instrument, and then, as it opened, he stammered, "S-sorry, Ashton, I was just…"

"Were you playing?"

Mikey blinked and turned at Ray's kind voice, surprised, biting his lip as the older Killjoy limped over to him, not on his crutches and clearly having difficulty. "Where're your—"

"I'm fine," Ray insisted with a smile. "Just…seeing if I can walk without them." He looked away for a moment. "They make me feel like...like I can't do anything. Like I couldn't help even if we were doing something."

Mikey didn't respond, but he reached out with the hand not still holding the bass to drag the closest chair nearer to his. He looked up at Ray, waiting patiently, and then the older gratefully took the seat, gesturing subtly at the bass after a moment.

"No," Mikey shook his head.

"You sound great, don't you?" Ray said, and Mikey looked at him. "You haven't even heard."

"Then play for me."

"…I don't remember much," the blonde murmured slowly, attempting a convincing excuse, and Ray stared at the bass for a moment. Then he scooted his chair to be directly behind Mikey's, leaning close and gently taking the blonde's left hand, maneuvering his fingers on the frets. "First two strings."

Mikey timidly moved his index and middle fingers to the strings, grinning slightly as, when he alternated them, notes even better than whatever he'd played before rang out. He glanced at the Killjoy over his shoulder. "You played bass?"

"I played a lot of things." Ray shrugged. "Never really had much else to do, I mean…my parents were always working, so I'd go down to this old music store everyday. The guy that owned it was really nice; he'd let me hang out there and practice."

"You never said anything about it."

"Mm. It's like Ash said, there wasn't really a point talking about that kind of stuff out there."

Mikey gave an almost imperceptible shrug, and then Ray reached out to move his other hand again, his fingers just barely trailing up his arm as he pulled away.

The blonde shivered and then absentmindedly played, his attention diverted, turning his head to look at him again. "I don't feel nervous." he finally murmured, his hazel eyes going over the older's face.

Ray tilted his head a little. "What do you mean?"

Mikey hesitated. "I always get nervous when I try to play in front of someone." He unconsciously moved his hand to a new chord by himself, the memories slowly unlocking in his mind, and smiled. "I'm not."

Grinning as well, Ray leaned to kiss him, which the blonde accepted without question, feeling his stomach flutter.

"You shouldn't be," Ray quietly said when they broke away, resting his chin on Mikey's shoulder and looking up at him seriously. "Don't ever be afraid of doing something you're good at."

Mikey blushed and turned to face the bass again, biting his lip in thought, and then at last managed to play several notes from Highway to Hell.

Ray chuckled softly. "You and Frank should play together."

The younger softly cleared his throat. "I don't know," he said, fascinated by the fact that he still didn't feel frightened, even though last time the mere thought ended his will to play at all.

"Maybe."

* * *

><p>"So," Wire began hesitantly, somewhat startling Rejection, who'd been sitting quietly on the chair in the living room for almost the entire afternoon, deep in thought.<p>

"Sorry," he whispered as she turned to look at him. "I just…I was…wondering? I mean, I _was_ wondering, um—" he paused in irritation. Could he make his nervousness any more obvious? "You have any idea what we're going to do now?" he finally managed.

Rejection smiled sadly and shook her head. "I haven't even been thinking about it."

Wire sat down on the couch beside her, hoping it was far enough away that it wouldn't result in causing him to stammer more. "Sorry." he repeated, more solemn than before.

She nodded. "It's…okay." She bit her lip at the obvious lie even she herself could hear was false. "I mean, it will be."

"Will be?"

"Yeah." She looked at him, and he blushed under her gaze, hoping she didn't see. Her eyes were just so…_beautiful_; a very light blue that resembled what he vaguely remembered an ocean to be colored. He wondered suddenly if she liked oceans...maybe he could take her to one once this was all over with. If they could find one, of course; they_ were_ in the middle of a desert. The only water they got out there was rain, and even then it wasn't really water at all, but acid, which, for the record, was the least romantic sight—or experience—he could possibly think of, having one or two tiny raindrop-size scars on his body to prove it. Almost all of the Killjoys had been caught out in at least one of the downpours of it, some of them two or more, usually during their first few months of being out in the desert, refusing to take things as seriously as they should and realize that when Dr. D announced on the radio that there was going to be acid rain, he wasn't kidding around.

"When we take down BLI," she continued, "then I'll feel better. I need to know he didn't die for nothing."

"He didn't," Wire said immediately, and she smiled. "You're sweet. But _I _won't feel that until we get back at them—until we destroy them."

It was silent for a long moment, in which Wire nodded several times as he struggled to find something to say, and then Rejection cleared her throat. "I miss him. A lot."

"We all do. He was really great. I wish it…could be different."

Rejection put her thumb to her mouth and began chewing on her nail like that would stop her eyes from watering. It didn't, and after a moment a tear spilled over and fell down her cheek. Wire almost instinctively lifted his hand and reached towards her, wiping it away with a finger.

Her gaze locked with his, and he froze, momentarily both confused and content, and then she at last broke the eye contact, slowly glancing over his face and then looking away completely.

Wire couldn't move for a few seconds, enthralled with what had just occurred, and then his eyes traveled down to her hand, which had moved closer to his without him noticing, unsure now if it was his imagination or what he _wished _would happen. "You hungry?" he squeaked at last, raising his head, and she chuckled softly, blinking back at him. "Sure."

He smiled and gestured towards the kitchen, relieved she didn't comment on how stupid that was before standing and walking towards it, glancing back at him, apparently feeling the need to break the depressing tone of the room with a childish-sounding, "Are you blushing?"

_Oh my God. _Wire felt his cheeks grow hotter, and Rejection laughed, evidently having fun teasing him on what she was already aware he _was _doing, and he shook his head, grinning to hopefully hide how awkward he was. "Me? Nah." he murmured, watching her go off.

"Kiss her already," Note suddenly came up behind him before he could follow, nudging him with a shoulder, his eyes wide in amusement.

"Go away," Wire said, though couldn't stop smiling. He turned to the eighteen-year-old, looking him up and down. "Who do _you _like? Moon? Because I'd love to tease _you_ about something."

Note cocked an eyebrow. "I don't like girls."

"Oh, sorry..." Wire was suddenly blushing again. "Do—?"

"Don't like guys, either." he continued, shrugging casually, and as Wire understood, he gave Note the most annoyed look the other had ever seen, for the obvious reason that his desire for revenge for all the embarrassment was absolutely pointless. "Are you_ kidding_ me?"

"Sorry," Note laughed, gave him a little push towards where Rejection had gone, and Wire rolled his eyes, shaking his head and sighing before heading into the kitchen. _So much for that idea._

Frank, Ashton, Dr. D, Show Pony, DJ, and Bert, who was off to the very side, were the only ones in the kitchen, the other Killjoys either attempting to play the instruments or listening, or still in the living room. Frank smiled tiredly at them, supporting his head on his hand, his elbow resting on the table. He'd slept through the remainder of the night and into what was now the afternoon, and although he felt nowhere near completely caught up on sleep, it was a hopeful start. He wasn't sure, however, it he finally _was _overcoming the nightmares, or had simply been too deeply out of it to have any. With how he'd felt then and how he still felt, that didn't seem far-fetched in the least.

"Where's Poison?" Rejection asked, and Frank's smile faded, gesturing almost unnoticeably towards the bathroom with his head and then looking down.

"Is he okay?"

"I don't know. He won't talk to me." Frank said softly, sounding a bit heartbroken at that. He'd woken up cold and alone and wondering where his love had gone. He was grateful Ashton's apartment had two bathrooms, as Gerard had been in there for almost half an hour, muttering a stern, "_No._" when Frank had asked if he could come in, not even giving a response when asked if he was all right.

He was clearly not all right, anyway, but without Gerard telling him anything, Frank wasn't sure if it really was still from what Korse had done to him, or something else, or all of it, or even a completely different thing all together. It couldn't have been anything going on now, however. He knew of nothing that would cause that; Ashton had been more than generous. He'd given them clothes, shelter, food, and even simple things he could easily get for very little money at his corner store, such as toothbrushes and razors, so Frank was positive that wasn't the reason. He desperately wanted to help him and yet simply didn't know how to when he refused to explain what was wrong no matter how much pestering Frank did.

Almost as if he'd been hearing the pleas Frank had silently been sending him to get out, Gerard stepped out of the bathroom, cringing uncomfortably as they looked at him and crossing his arms. He looked cold and pale, even with the dark jacket Ashton had managed to find for him after he'd been shivering too much to fall asleep two nights before. He hadn't taken it off since except to shower, and yet for a moment it looked as if it wasn't helping at all.

Frank jumped to his feet and smiled, going over to him. "Are you feeling better?" he asked, and Gerard nodded without emotion.

The twenty-year-old studied his face for a long moment; he didn't look angry or anything—just expressionless, something Frank had been noticing he seemed to be more and more. It scared him; it was as if he had been taking the medication all of them did anything they could to stay away from.

"Good," he murmured, intertwining his fingers with the older Killjoy's, tugging him towards the kitchen. "Come eat, I—"

"I'm not hungry." Gerard gently pulled free and gave him a little shrug, turning and walking into the living room.

Frank frowned and followed, catching him by his arm again. "Gee," he said, so seriously Gerard stopped and looked at him.

"Gerard, please, tell me what's wrong." Frank's hazel eyes were slightly shining in the light, like he was close to tears, pleading with him far more than his words were.

The twenty-four-year-old glanced at the floor without answering. _Everything, Frank. Me._

"Please," Frank repeated, becoming increasingly desperate. "Tell me." He slid his hand down from his love's wrist to his hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. "I want to help you…but you have to talk to me!"

Gerard forced a smile, a task that felt more difficult than anything he'd ever done before. "Nothing."

"_Please_…" Frank's voice was hardly a whisper, and he bit his lower lip.

The feigned grin was gone just as fast, and Gerard pulled his hand out of his love's grip, leaning towards him. "_Nothing,_" he assured, kissing him on the cheek, hoping to end his worrying.

It obviously didn't, as Frank only blinked and then shook his head. "I'm glad," he murmured, too tired to continue, and then turned, going back into the kitchen.

Gerard dug his nails into his palm as hard as he could manage, clenching his teeth and going over to sit on the couch, ignoring the chatter of the others around him. He should've taken Frank's offer and gone into the kitchen to get something to eat—he _knew _he should have. He was more aware of that than he was of anything else. Yet there was something stopping him, something telling him that wasn't what he needed to feel better. He also vaguely knew he shouldn't have been listening to it, but it was stronger than him. Not only did he simply feel better about having control over something, as he felt he didn't for anything else, but he was also hurt—hurt by the insults he refused to tell anyone about. The insults that had started off being given by the twenty-nine-year-old jerk Ashton apparently believed was a good friend, and that instead were now being shot at him almost constantly by his own mind. He didn't know why he believed them, but he did; he'd tried ignoring them and it'd worked just about as much as telling them to go away had.

He'd had them before, though. The need to refuse to eat wasn't new. When he'd been younger, in what may have been the eighth grade, there'd been an incident at school where he'd been repeatedly called fat and worse by a large group of kids at the table across from him at lunch. They'd ridiculed him about it to the point where he'd wanted to cry and then had been teased further because his eyes had watered. No one had made a single move to stand up for him, not in the entire cafeteria—and about half of them were witness to what had been said to him—and so he thought because of that, it must have been true. He was overweight and ugly and the reason no one ever befriended him was because he just wasn't worth it.

He'd starved himself for weeks after that, only eating infinitesimal amounts here and there to keep his parents happy and blissfully unaware of what he was doing, losing almost ten pounds and then finally breaking down in a fit of sobbing when his brother had found a note he'd pinned to the mirror in his closet, the invective from the students that day written again and again all over it, and confronted him about it. The paper had been there so he could read it every morning and night—remind himself that he was doing this for a purpose. He didn't have a problem, he was _dieting_. And it didn't matter anyway—he'd eventually be skinny and attractive and no one would make fun of him anymore. He'd finally fit in with everyone else, something he'd always wanted to do. He'd begged Mikey not to say anything of it, wanting that fantasy to come true, but the younger had told their parents anyway, who had then brought him down into a long discussion. For the most part, he'd been successful at denying every accusation they threw at him and making excuses, only to have it all ruined when he'd finally been allowed to leave by fainting halfway to the stairs. It had only been then that he'd agreed to see a specialist they would have forced on him anyway to help him.

Now, recalling that speaking about it and confessing to the problem had led to his slow but effective recovery for all these years, relapsing only a few times during them and merely for a few days before he was sent back to recover, he loosely wondered if allowing Frank or even his brother to know about it would help. He knew Mikey wouldn't be pleased, the problem most likely only accentuating how weak and pathetic he truly had become since their capture. But seeing as there wasn't an option for him to speak to the same kind of specialist here, it was the next best thing he had. Yet he decided against it. He knew they would only be burdened by his problems; they had some of their own to worry about. They didn't need to fret over him, and, to be honest, he didn't think he cared enough to tell them. He just wanted to feel in control of himself again, and he continued to remain uncaring of how he achieved that—uncaring of everything, really. And if he had control over one more thing in his life at the moment, he was disinclined to let that disappear so easily.

He solemnly looked up as Ray and Mikey emerged from the other room, smiling at him and then joining the others in the kitchen without a word, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

"Hey," Skye said, noticing the older of the two wasn't using the crutches. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah, actually." Ray said, and then winced.

Dr. D caught it. "It hasn't been long enough; you need to use them."

"I'm okay," Ray managed hoarsely, his voice a little too high-pitched for him not to be in at least _some _pain, sitting down heavily on the chair and stretching his leg out with a sharp exhale of relief, giving the Doc a funny looking grin. "I was just...trying."

Dr. D gave a sigh and sipped from his mug without replying, knowing he'd go back to using them. He wasn't stupid; just as stubborn as he had been five years ago.

"You're looking a lot better, anyway," Pony offered kindly, and Ray nodded, turning slightly to look at where Bert was silently sitting in the corner of the table, the left side of his bottom lip swollen. "You okay?"

Bert scowled without looking up. "I'm fine. No worries."

Ray eyed him for another moment before facing the others again, noticing Frank had his eyes closed, his head slowly tilting to one side. "Hey..."

The younger Killjoy didn't respond, and Ray smiled, reaching out to poke his arm, attempting to merely wake him and instead causing him to gasp and bring his arm back to his chest, forgetting he'd been holding a glass and knocking it over, spilling water all over the table and onto the floor.

"I-I'm sorry," Frank murmured, dazed, and Ashton stood, startled. "It's okay," he began, turning and looking at the counter for the paper towels that weren't there. "Shit, um..." He looked at the others standing and pointed to a cabinet below the sink. "Can one of you grab the roll of paper towels under there?"

"Got it," Ray murmured, getting to his uninjured knee in one fluid movement and opening the little cabinet, pushing things around before he saw them, wincing as his hand brushed up against something cold and sticky. "Ow," he muttered, and then suddenly yelped. "Ow! Ow—fuck!"

He dropped the towels onto the tile as he retracted his hand, shouting again at the awful burning sensation, and Mikey grabbed his arm in concern. "What's—"

"Shit!" Ray interrupted, trying to shake the thick white substance off his hand and failing. "_Getitoffame!_"

Ashton was suddenly beside him, grabbing his wrist, hauling him up by it and dragging him closer to the sink, forcing his hand under the faucet and blasting it on the coldest setting.

Ray cried out, squeezing his eyes shut, and Rainbow quickly grabbed a chair, placing it behind him in case he fell. "What happened?"

Ashton was evidently clueless, and he didn't reply, trying to keep Ray on his feet as he writhed in agony, letting out another suppressed yell, prompting the others that had been in the living room to rush in to see what was wrong.

DJ stepped forward, frowning and bending down to see in the cabinet, immediately noticing something. "Ashton?"

"Mm?"

"Do you have drain cleaner?"

Ashton frowned. "I don't—" he cut off and cursed. "Shit."

DJ tilted her head in a silent gesture of agreement with that_, _squinting to see that several of the objects he had down there —towels, other bottles of cleaning things—were covered in the white gunk, trailing from a bottle, on its side in a puddle of the stuff. "It's everywhere."

"S-stop!" Ray mumbled as Ashton started gently rubbing the stuff off with a small rag by the sink. "Please!"

"You want it off you or not?" Ashton demanded, and almost as if in response, Ray's knees gave way and he slumped into the chair with a moan, pressing his forehead to the counter and clutching at it with his free hand. He was unable to stop a soft whimper from escaping his lips after another moment or two, and he shook his head, hoping no one had heard him.

Mikey was struggling to comfort him still, a hand rubbing his back, whispering, "It's okay," into his ear to soothe him, and he just began to notice him, inhaling sharply. Then, as Ashton stopped touching it, he groaned in relief.

"I think I got it all," the man said, sounding satisfied.

"Keep rinsing it," Dr. D ordered. "Fifteen minutes."

"Motherfucker," Ray panted.

"You gonna be okay?" Frank asked carefully.

"I'm gonna be _great_," the older Killjoy managed through gritted teeth, his voice high-pitched again and dripping with sarcasm. "Amazing, really..."

Ashton shook his head. "Jesus, I'm sorry—if I'd known that'd spilt…"

"'s fine," Ray tried to lift his head and then found he couldn't, suddenly exhausted from the discomfort, and he vaguely wondered if it would cause him to faint; vaguely _wanted _it to. That wouldn't be good, though—he couldn't go into shock or something, and he was fairly sure Dr. D didn't _have _anything to treat that, with his van still outside the city. And if he did, it'd be an absolutely pathetic way to waste their limited medical resources.

Ray blinked, but his vision didn't blur or fade, and after a moment he realized the only comfort he was going to receive was from Mikey.

It was enough, he finally decided, pressing his lips together to stop all sounds of pain. It'd be over soon; he just had to make it until then.

No one noticed Gerard, further behind the others, step back and let out a sudden, very soft sob, uncertain why the hell he was abruptly on the verge of tears, as it was _Ray _who was in pain, not him. He was unable to control it, however, and with a quick glance at both Frank and his brother, denying the urge to go to either, he quietly returned to the bathroom, a trembling hand over his mouth to prevent any other noise from escaping until he was alone.

No one except Bert, who watched him close the door, running a tongue along his swollen lip with a wince of pain. He knew he could have said something, or told the Killjoy's boyfriend, who was standing almost right beside him.

He didn't, though.

* * *

><p>At last, nearly half an hour later, Ray was no longer in the awful agony he had been, leaning back in the chair he hadn't left, his eyes closed as he tried to regain his breath. Dr. D had tended to the wound after Ashton had washed it long enough, paining him a bit more before finally giving him painkillers and allowing him to simply rest his reddened, already blistered hand on the counter without having it be bothered again. The pain had dulled to a tolerable level, and with Mikey still comforting him, he was almost beginning to feel okay again.<p>

"Any better?" Dr. D asked after a while, and Ray mumbled, "Mm-hm."

The Doc sighed quietly and looked to Ashton. "You got any painkillers?"

Ashton shook his head. "Sorry. Why, you didn't bring enough?"

"I thought I had, but…I guess not." He turned to Ray. "You think you can make it through the night?"

"God, not if they wear off," Ray said frantically, blinking up at him in desperation.

Ashton waved a hand. "No problem. I'll go out and—"

"I can go," Bert suddenly cut in, and Ashton eyed him for a moment.

"Well you can't go alone." Skye murmured, and Bert frowned at her. "What? I'm twenty-nine!"

"Still—"

"I'll go, then." Frank said, watching Bert turn to stare at him. "No way."

"I wasn't offering, I was telling you. I'm coming with you."

Bert feigned a smile. "Fine," he spat, and Frank couldn't stop a little sardonic grin from forming at the edge of his mouth. He turned towards the others, holding out his arms. "Do I look like a Killjoy?"

Pony pursed his lips and then said, "No. But BLI will recognize you if they get the chance; they know what you look like, different clothes or not."

"It's almost dark…"

Dr. D eyed him and then glanced at Ashton, who shook his head. "It shouldn't be a big deal. Just," he looked at Bert, "make sure you look out for Watchers, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Bert rolled his eyes, standing and heading towards the door.

Frank went to follow him, stopping when they got to the door as he heard Gerard murmur, "W-where're you going?"

Turning to the Killjoy peering at him over the top of the couch, confused, Frank replied, "To get stuff for R—Jet."

Gerard eyed Bert behind him, who was glaring at him in impatience. He gave him an all around bad feeling; he really didn't want Frank to be alone—and vulnerable—with him. "Don't go."

Frank clearly did not understand his concern, possibly didn't even _notice _it, and he gave a small smile. "It's okay; I'm not scared."

Gerard frowned. "I never—"

"It's _fine,_" the younger insisted, not letting him continue, turning to the door and opening it, stepping past Bert, who followed without another glance at the Killjoy watching.

"Which way?" Frank asked as they got out of the apartment, and Bert gestured to the street. "Come on, we've got fifteen minutes."

"Why?"

"Seven is curfew for kids."

Frank frowned. "And?"

Bert glanced at him doubtfully as he started off. "Aren't you sixteen or something?"

The Killjoy froze, his fists clenching. "I'm twenty!"

"That's nice," Bert uncaringly called over his shoulder, and Frank shook his head, muttering several curses before catching up.

* * *

><p>"Gee?"<p>

Gerard glanced up at his brother, not even having noticed he'd stopped playing the bass in his lap. He looked very uncomfortable at how blank the expression of the older was—he'd never heard him play, was this supposed to be his reaction? "D-did you…like it?"

"Yeah, Mikes, I loved it." Gerard nodded. "You're great."

Mikey smiled and let out a breath of relief, and Ray nudged him with his shoulder. "Told you," he murmured jokingly. "We could almost make our own band."

The blonde smiled suddenly, and then it faded as Ray cleared his throat. "Could've, I mean."

Almost literally having forgotten about the ban on music, or anything else going on for a second, Mikey sagged his shoulders. "Right."

"Maybe when we beat 'em," Gerard said comfortingly, noticing his brother's spirits drop through the floor. "Then you can play music as much as you want. _And _make a band."

Mikey nodded, still looking at the ground, and Gerard glanced at the Killjoy beside him like he wanted help.

"You—we can make one anyway, if you want," Ray offered, and Mikey blushed, realizing he'd been pouting like a child. "It's fine, sorry."

"No, really," Ray said, wanting to cheer him up. "I'm sure Frank would like the idea."

Mikey shrugged.

"C'mon." To be honest, Ray wanted to do it as well. Have a single plan—a dream for what they would do after BLI was gone and they all were free. They needed more of those.

Mikey looked at him, smiling a bit. "Just for the hell of it?"

"For the hell of it," Ray chuckled, and Mikey looked at his brother. "You'd sing, right?"

Gerard winced. "I don't know, Mikey. It's not real." He glimpsed Mikey's crestfallen face immediately and bent forward, an arm resting on his leg, hand supporting his chin. "Sure, yeah, okay."

Mikey didn't seem to be aware of his worry—or at least, had finally given up asking what was wrong. He looked at Ray and played another note or two. "We'd have to find a name."

Ray raised an eyebrow at how interested the blonde was in this, but it was keeping their minds off everything for now, and that was something he was more than happy about. "I don't know, I mean," he shrugged, "we don't have to right now."

"Just…give me words. Any words."

Gerard opened his mouth to do so and then closed it again, realizing he probably shouldn't have said anything on his mind at the moment.

"Ahm…" Ray mumbled, trying to think of something and looking at the window. "…Night?"

Mikey smirked at him. "Great choice, really," he murmured sarcastically.

Ray shifted and chuckled, breaking off in a sharp gasp of pain as his injured hand brushed against Mikey's jeans. "Shit!"

Gerard jumped, straightening up with a frown of concern as Ray frantically shook his hand. "Fire, burn, chemical—take your pick, Mikey!"

The blonde gently gripped his arm to stop the movement and Ray sighed after a moment of confusion as he acknowledged it actually lessened the pain, gratefully looking at him.

Mikey didn't speak for a moment, and then his eyes lit up. "Chemical Romance," he said with a little nod.

"…What?" Ray asked, confused, and Mikey leaned back, seeming very pleased with himself. "The name."

"Where'd that come from?"

"That one place we stayed at, a few years back? With all the books?"

"The ones we burned for a fire? Yeah, I remember..."

"That was one of them."

"The title? How the hell do you even remember that?"

"'Cause it was sorta…I don't know, I just…" He smiled. "It was the only one I actually opened. I thought it was a funny name for ecstasy."

"Great, Mikes," Ray chuckled. "Whatever you want."

"Why not?"

"I like it," Gerard offered, glancing at him, having felt the need to say something helpful, not knowing if it had been or not and uncaring either way.

Mikey repositioned the bass on his lap and strummed it again. "Chemical Romance," he murmured softly. "Our…My Chemical Romance?"

He looked at Ray and nodded in satisfaction, repeating it in less of a questioning tone.

That definitely sounded right.

* * *

><p><em>Shit, Gee; I lied. I'm scared.<em>

Frank had been trying to ignore the fear for a while now. In fact, the entire reason he'd wanted to go out in the first place was to prove to himself that he _wasn't_ afraid, that he could handle being in a dangerous situation again without losing it, that Fun Ghoul was still _somewhere _in him.

Well…he _was _in a dangerous situation now, anyway. It had taken longer than fifteen minutes to even walk to the store, and Bert had insisted on taking a different path than the one they'd taken before, away from the streets.

"You, uh…you know where we are, right?" Frank asked yet again, unable to help it.

Bert heaved an irritated sigh and finally flung his arm out, simply trying to shove the small box of painkillers into Frank's hands and instead resulting in the twenty-year-old gasping and jerking back. Bert stopped and looked at him, noticing the fear he instantly began pushing away. "What'd you think I was gonna do, hit you?"

"No." he said quietly, not looking up, and Bert cocked an eyebrow but said nothing else of it, handing him the box much slower and then starting to walk again. "We aren't lost. I just…wanna make a stop while we're out."

Frank frowned and didn't speak again, casting another glance behind them. He was absolutely paranoid, and the worst part was, he had no idea whether or not he had a reason to be; if it was his instincts trying to tell him something, or if he was overreacting due to his fear of being captured again.

Finally, after a long while of silently following the older, they stopped in front of a small one-story apartment building, and Frank halted as Bert continued on up the steps to the door, turning to him once he noticed he was no longer beside him. "What?"

"What're we doing?"

Bert smirked. "_I'm _going to talk to someone."

"Can't we go back?" Frank asked, a slight panicked edge to his voice, and Bert nodded. "Sure. In a minute," he added after a pause, disappearing inside the glass door before anything else could be said.

Unknowingly chewing his bottom lip, Frank fit the box into his pocket and clenched his fists in front of him. He desperately wished he'd brought his gun now, but it'd been too risky. One person saw it, and everything was ruined. They were supposed to be _dead—_and they had to keep it like that, at least for now.

He waited for what seemed like forever, gradually relaxing as nothing occurred, and then turned to stare at the place beside him. Where _was _he?

He frowned. What if he was hurt? Or something bad had happened?

At last, his anxiety got the best of him, and, without quite realizing it, he was making his way towards the stairs, attentively entering the apartment, peering down one end of an empty hallway. He opened his mouth to call out, never getting the chance.

"Hey!"

Frank whipped around, not even seeing who had spoken before a fist drove into his stomach, knocking the air from him in a loud cry.

Someone grabbed him from behind before he could double over, hooking their arms around his so he couldn't move them, forcing him to stand up.

"This is private property, kid!"

Frank blinked at the guy in front of him, the edges of his vision blurred as he fought to breathe, incapable of speech.

"What're you doing here?" he demanded, and the Killjoy shook his head, exclaiming as his arms were jerked back further.

"Answer!"

"Let him go, he's with me!"

Frank slumped to the floor as he was released, gasping and curling up.

"He's with _you?_" the one who'd been behind him—a _woman_—murmured, and Bert nodded, stepping up to them.

"What, you get stuck baby sittin' or somethin'?" the other laughed.

"Shut the fuck up, Jake," Bert rolled his eyes, looking at Frank as the boy finally managed to raise his head, blinking hard.

"You good?" Bert asked as he struggled up, not offering to help, and Frank glared at them as he got to his feet, an arm tightly around his aching midsection, still slightly bent over. "_No._ C-can we go now?"

Bert rolled his eyes yet again, exasperated now like Frank didn't have a perfectly good reason for wanting to leave. "I'll be done in a minute! Shit...just go wait outside!"

Frank didn't move as he turned and went back into one of the rooms, and then his gaze traveled to the two. The man had pulled out a cigerette and was now lighting it, casually acting as if they hadn't just attacked the Killjoy. The women looked him over and then dug a hand into her pocket, holding something out to him. "Want any?"

"You take them?" he rasped after a moment, his eyes going from the bottle of BLI medication to her, and she shrugged. "Not all the time…"

"Just when we need a little...you know..." Jake trailed off and took another drag, and Frank suddenly understood. "You get_ high_ off them?"

"Why not?" the woman asked, smirking. "You take less than you're supposed to, and they don't mess you up for as long." She popped the bottle open, again offering. "You want one?"

Frank hardly noticed, pointing at the room Ashton's friend still hadn't come out of yet. "Bert—does he take them?"

Jake shrugged carelessly. "Sure. Shit's great for just relaxin'." He smirked. "He brings us stuff, we trade with him for these."

Frank tilted his head a little. "Brings you what stuff?"

"Dunno. Painkillers and stuff; anything we might want."

_Painkillers. Doc had—that bastard!_ _He stole them! _Frank rolled his eyes. So Bert was a druggie _and _a thief.

_Perfect, just…perfect._

They all _really_ needed someone who took drugs—_especially _BLI drugs—around to help them out; in fact, that was _just _what they needed. Someone they shouldn't be trusting.

It of course didn't mean Bert agreed with what BLI did, or even that he took them often—but it was enough. And if he hadn't taken what he had, (and Frank was positive it had been him; there was no other explaination as to how the packets Dr. D had brought had disappeared over the days they'd been there) then Ray would've had enough to last him the night, and he wouldn't _be _here right now! It was a reason good enough that they would have to keep an eye on him, and it was something he had to be sure to tell the others about the moment he got back.

The women was looking him over again when he came out of his thoughts, seeming to have different plans of what he was going to do. "You're a cute little thing...how old are you?"

Frank hesitated, uncomfortable. "Twenty."

"Really? You're damn young looking for that." she said, and then stepped closer to him.

"I have to..." Frank began, his eyes darting, but she pushed him back against the wall with a hand, smirking, pinning him there with a knee between his legs. She brushed the hair out of his eyes, and he shrank back as much as he could. "Stop it."

Smirking, she didn't, leaning closer, and Frank's panic increased. He didn't want this—he never wanted _anyone_ but Gerard to ever touch him how she was...how the _agent_ had...taunting him with similar abuse and then going through with what it had suggested completely... "Let go!"

_'There's the defiance I remember. I was starting to wonder where it went.'_

"No," he whimpered, startled, and she put a hand on his chest, obviously amused by his growing fear, though it really had nothing to do with her anymore, her image blurred with another.

_'I guess I'll just have to find a way to get rid of it for good, hmm?'_

"Fucking _let me go!_" he shouted, eyes wide. He clenched his fists, and then, before he could do anything—and he _would _have, too—Jake chuckled, "Meg, leave 'em alone. You're gonna make him cry."

She rolled her eyes and released him, stepping back, and, shaking, Frank pushed past her. He staggered to halt outside, gripping the banister like his life depended on it, trying to blink away the flashes of memory.

_'Oh yes; we left off somewhere, didn't we?'_

"Stop—stop, please!" he mumbled, only slightly aware it had been to no one. _You're awake, _he tried to tell himself, _you're awake, and alone, and he's not here!_

_'You know what, Way? I'd actually love for you to see something else even more.'_

Frank let out a loud sob—"Please…"—and stumbled down the stairs, striving to make the rest of him realize he was moving, that he was walking, and his hands were free, and Korse _wasn't _about to—

_'Glad to hear you're finally learning manners, Killjoy.'_

He had no idea when the hell he'd started running, aiming to only get away from what wasn't even there, but when he became aware of his actions again, he was at the end of the passageway they'd come through, and then out onto the edge of the street, petrified and practically hyperventilating as he slowly came out of his stupor—and then felt his heart stop as he was suddenly lit up by the headlights of an oncoming vehicle.

His fear overtook him entirely, and he immediately sprinted in the opposite direction of which he'd come from, only determined to evade capture, unknowing if it'd been a Watcher or someone else and _very _keen to never finding out. He ducked into another corridor, staggering weakly, his hands out because no matter how many times he blinked, his vision only got blurrier, and he could no longer see where he was going.

He heard quick footsteps behind him, turned, and then moaned as he was grabbed and nonchalantly shoved up against the wall beside him. His already fuzzy head smacked back against the concrete, his knees buckled, and despite still being held he felt himself falling, mumbling the only name that crossed his mind before everything went dark.

"Gee…"


	19. Think Happy Thoughts

**A/N/WARNING: Finally, an update! Sorry it's at such an awkwardly late time...Anyway, there's some sexual assault in this chapter, towards the middle (trust me, you'll know) and then an indication of (off-screen? Off-page?) Non-Con...I'd_ really_ hope by now that if all the angst and such shit wasn't your thing, you wouldn't be reading. :D (It IS going to stop soon, I swear! ...For Gerard. Take that as you will.) Also, hope you had a Happy/Merry [enter-whatever-you-celebrate-here] and have a Happy New Year! **

Chapter Nineteen

Think Happy Thoughts

"God, where _are _they?"

Gerard glanced at Ashton and stopped his nervous pacing for a moment, something he was surprised he could manage with how much pent-up fear and worry he had—_had_ been having since the moment Frank left. It only increased with the man muttering that; it meant something was wrong, and even he knew it, despite having acted relaxed until now. "It wouldn't take this long, would it?"

Ashton ran a hand through his hair. "Not an hour."

"Fuck." Gerard rolled his eyes and angrily rubbed at his face.

"It'll be okay," Bell tried, reaching out to pat his shoulder for comfort, but the older Killjoy shrank away before she could, having seen her out of the corner of his vision. He stepped away from the rest of them and then began walking to and from the door again, shaking his head. No, he couldn't let something else happen to Frank—he just couldn't! And yet, he might have already allowed that to happen by not stopping his love from going out before.

Of course, there was no way he _could _have stopped him—Frank was every bit as stubborn as Gerard usually was, if not more so. He'd been absolutely set on going, and clearly wouldn't have allowed anyone to get in the way of that, although Gerard still didn't know _why _exactly. To prove that he could? Was there a chance Frank was just as desperate as Gerard was to convince both himself and the others that he wasn't as useless as he felt? It didn't seem too likely...Frank appeared fine, or at least, more fine than Gerard. The younger had no slashes on his wrists, nor did he seem to have anything worse going on in his head than his nightmares.

_Anything worse!_ a voice spat at him._ Since when did this turn into a contest of who feels worse? You selfish piece of shit. He'd probably win if you were, and yet you're the only one complaining._

Gerard winced. It should have been _him _who had gone with Bert, who had been in a situation to possibly get recaptured. Frank didn't deserve any of that, nor did anyone else. Only him. He deserved so much worse than simply standing here and being scared to death for his love—he deserved to be wherever Frank was, if it was bad. Hell, he deserved to be there anyway. His abscence would do nothing more than help them all. He had always been the one who had ideas, who had plans, who _made _plans. People had relied on him, and he'd never let them down until now, until he'd become so weak he'd resorted to hurting himself to feel, to starving himself because of a few derogatory comments. He couldn't help himself, he couldn't help Frank, he couldn't help what had happened to them or _Missile Kid _or any of the others that had died_—_he was _useless! _Absolutely worthless in every aspect, and the more he thought about it now, the more he wondered if Korse had been right, not even registering how laughable caring what the man who had raped him and his boyfriend thought.

_'The world will be so much better off when you're dead.'_

He sure as hell couldn't fuck anything else up if that was the case.

"Would they have gone anywhere else?" Dr. D asked at last, snapping Gerard out of his thoughts to realize he was leaning heavily against the wall, arms folded tightly over his chest, breathing hard as if he'd been running from something. He glanced up, thankful no one was paying attention to him. That was just what they needed—someone else to worry about, someone who'd only slow them down, or at least make them realize that a hindrance was all their leader had ever been from the start.

"Yeah," Rejection nodded, gesturing absentmindedly at the air in front of Dr. D, as if his words still hung there. "A friend of Bert's, maybe?"

Ashton sighed heavily and sat on the edge of the couch. "No—yeah...I mean, maybe. He's got a place he goes for...to talk to his friends."

DJ stared at him, suspicion clear on her face. "For what?"

Ashton shook his head, and Gerard glared daggers. "For _what?_"

"He...I don't know...he's always been an ad—when they banned everything, he—"

Gerard widened his eyes in understanding and buried his face behind his fingers as Ashton trailed off uselessly, clasping his hands behind his head as Pony murmured, "He wouldn't take _Ghoul _with him, would he?"

Ashton shrugged and dropped his hands back to his lap, suddenly looking incredibly stressed, as if he hadn't had a reason to be for the past whatever minutes. "I don't know!"

It was silent for a moment, and then Skye sighed. "It'll be okay. I'm sure they're fine."

"He better be," Gerard mumbled, not quite loud enough for them to hear, and then jumped as the door suddenly opened, a very distraught Bert standing in the hall, panting, his face pale.

"Where is he?" Gerard immediately exclaimed, loudly, not caring who else in the whole building heard, and Bert shook his head weakly. "I don't—look, I—"

"You fucking _lost _him?" Ashton hissed, and Gerard grabbed the older boy by his shirt, jerking him inside with strength he didn't know he possessed, fueled completely by fury, slamming Bert into the wall and kicking the door shut. "What happened?"

Bert looked over Gerard's shoulder at the others, like he wanted them to pull the Killjoy away, but none of them moved, glaring at him just as impatiently.

"Tell me!"

Bert frowned at the intensity of Gerard's voice. "Shit—I don't know, okay? I—I went to see someone, and I told him to stay outside, and—" he shook his head. "Next thing I know he's just—gone!"

"You took him to one of your fucking druggie friends, didn't you?" Gerard demanded, noticing the brief flash of anger in Bert's eyes and disregarding it. The bastard had no right in the entire world to be upset at the moment. "_Why? _Why didn't you just come back?"

"I—"

"No, I don't care." Gerard spat, shoving him back and then letting go, turning to the others. "We've gotta look for him."

"There's Watchers—" Bert began, and Gerard shot him a look so fierce he swear he saw the other wince.

He faced Ashton again, who was already by the door, along with DJ, Skye, Candy, Pony, Rejection, and Bullet, the others either too young to risk being hurt or lost as well or weighed down by some injury and unable to. He then pushed Bert out of the way to go with them, no one saying another word until they had all quietly exited the apartment, shaking his head.

"Eight people'll have to do," Ashton murmured, glancing around at them, and then turned to Bert. "Where were you?"

"Um..." the twenty-nine-year-old frowned. Street names had never been what he cared about enough to remember (and, to be honest, he had usually been too out of it coming back from the place to ever think of looking, anyway) and so he simply gestured after a moment. "Like six streets that way."

Ashton glared at him a moment longer in an unspoken threat Bert seemed to get immediately, and then set off with the others down the stairs. As Bert started off as well, Gerard faced him, scowling, jabbing a finger into the older's chest, his anger still lingering. "We'd better find him, you son of a bitch, because I fucking swear to God, if he's hurt..." he trailed off, stepped back, and then turned to catch up with the others.

At once Bert grabbed him from behind, clamping a hand over his mouth and dragging him back, shoving him onto the flight of stairs that led to the roof, slamming his fist into the younger's stomach as he tried to move.

"You think you're so tough?" Bert growled as quietly as he could, landing another two blows on the Killjoy before he had regained his breath. "You think you're so _fucking _tough?" He snapped back for a moment as Gerard's fist managed to catch his jaw, and then glared down at the Killjoy, who's eyes went wide as he realized his mistake. Bert grabbed Gerard's wrist and pinned it to the stair above the Killjoy's head, using his free hand to strike at him until Gerard stopped trying to fight back, instead reaching up to shield his face and whimpering, "Please..."

Bert stopped, breathing hard, and then grabbed the younger's throat tightly with both of his hands. "Sorry, what?" he sneered, only getting a choked wheeze in response. "Not so fucking badass now, are you?"

Gerard gasped for breath, desperately struggling to pry the fingers away, but Bert ignored him, cruelly smirking after a moment. "Don't worry, _Party._ If Ghoul got himself captured, I'll still be here."

Then, to Gerard's horror, Bert jerked him closer and kissed him, disregarding the Killjoy's muffled cries entirely until he went limp, either from lack of air or defeat. Then, Bert finally broke away and let him go, pushing him back onto the steps as he coughed and sputtered.

"You know you liked it, you little whore," Bert spat, watching as Gerard flinched and wiped his mouth. "You better _pray _I gave them the right place to start looking."

Gerard looked up at him, no longer appearing anything more than terrified, something that delighted the other. "Please tell them."

"Why? I don't give a rat's ass about him, and I'm sure as hell not doin' it for you."

"Just tell them!"

Bert slapped him, and he fell back in a daze, blood beginning to trickle down from his lip.

"What'll I get out of it, huh?"

Gerard shook his head, putting his fingers to the wound, his gaze on the ground. "Anything, just...please."

Bert smirked. "I'd love to say I didn't already, but..." He watched the Killjoy exhale sharply in relief. "I'll let you know when I think of a way you can repay me." He leaned forward to roughly place a hand on the younger's waist and squeeze.

Gerard whimpered and kicked out to force Bert to release him, and Bert grunted, taking a step back and then clenching his fist in anger. "You son of a bitch—"

The Killjoy gasped, trying to scramble away and dart up the stairs before Bert could hit him again, but it only succeeded in giving Bert the chance to grab his ankle, drag him back down, covering his mouth when he tried to shout again. "No, Killjoy," Bert whispered into Gerard's ear, lifting him to his feet and putting an arm around his waist to keep him there, "everyone else thinks you're out look for your boyfriend. You can't go back yet, or else they're gonna wonder how you got hurt."

Gerard shook his head and pushed back, a foot on the bottom stair, aiming to put Bert off balance and get free. At least loosen the hold on his mouth—enough he could shout for Mikey, or for anyone, really. Bert, however, only staggered a bit, and then took a step to the left, murmuring, "C'mon, Poison," and then leading him towards the stairway as he struggled, adding a slightly panicked, "Stop! If you fight, you're gonna knock us both down five flights of stairs."

Knowing the older was right, Gerard reluctantly allowed himself to be led down into the lobby and then outside completely, at last giving a groan he hoped Bert would understand meant he couldn't continue. Bert released him, and Gerard slumped down onto the steps, breathing in broken pants, wrapping a hand tightly around one of the bars of railing for support, his other arm around his stomach.

Bert rolled his eyes, clearly uncaring of the other's pain. "It was your own Goddamn fault. You've been pissing me off since you got here." He left Gerard alone until his gasps had steadied, and then finally reached out, cupping a hand under the other's chin. "Better?"

Gerard pulled away from him without responding, wincing and forcing himself to stand, leaning on the metal rail for support. He glared at the older for a brief moment before he staggered down the remaining two steps and to the ground, looking around in thought. The pain wasn't too unbearable anymore...he could easily have still gone out into the city to look for Frank. And he'd even taken a few small steps to do so, worry for his love again overwhelming anything else, before Bert came up behind him, placing his hands on Gerard's waist.

"Don't touch me," Gerard growled, moving out of his reach, and Bert chuckled. "Why? I told them where to look...you owe me."

"I don't owe you shit," the Killjoy said, slapping the older's hands away as he tried again. "Stop!"

Bert's eyes suddenly lit up with an unreadable emotion, and he clenched his teeth. "Shut up. You wanna get a Watcher on us? Really? There's no one else around now but them."

Gerard pursed his lips, letting out an irritated exhalation through his nose, and then again turned, more set on getting away from the older than he was of really knowing which direction he was heading and if it would help him find Frank or not, or even end up getting him in an even worse position.

A hand suddenly took hold of his wrist, making him gasp. "Let go," he whispered, but Bert did not. Gerard dug his heels into the ground, determined to stay where he was, and yet Bert still managed to yank him off balance, dragging him back, to the left, and into a small corridor behind the complex. It was much smaller than the others Gerard had seen or walked through—so thin that Bert was almost immediately pressed up against him. Then he placed his hands on the Killjoy's waist again, looking him over. "Damn are you adorable," he murmured. "Maybe that's why Ghoul hasn't left you yet...maybe that's the only reason."

"Let go!"

Bert put a finger on the other's lips, smiling sickeningly. "Go ahead, yell louder. You can. But I know you won't. You can't made a single Goddamn sound because if you do, you'll get us both captured." He leaned closer. "You don't want that, now, do you? Go back to BLI and have them do whatever they did to you then, all over again? Or worse?"

By how wide Gerard's eyes got at the words, Bert knew the Killjoy had realized he was trapped. "That's right, cutie," he murmured, thrilled he was in control, rubbing at the younger's sides. "You're mine."

"Please, don't..." Gerard whimpered, his eyes darting, desperate to get away and yet knowing he couldn't. The other side of the corridor was a dead end, the already narrow opening only getting smaller until Gerard was sure he would not be able to fit through it, or even _try _before Bert would jerk him back. That meant Bert was blocking the only way in or out, and as he didn't seem to be planning on moving anytime soon...

"Please," Gerard started again, "j-just let me—" He cut off and shuddered violently, his eyes refocusing back on Bert to find him smirking.

"Like that?" he asked, and Gerard shook his head. "Please stop."

Amused, Bert moved his right hand down further, hearing Gerard let out a loud breath and another, "Stop!"

"Yell louder," Bert grinned, the words causing the other to fall silent again, and then began gently rubbing the seam of the younger's jeans.

Gerard stiffened, alarmed. He..._felt _something. It wasn't joy, of course—it was nothing even close to that. The older's actions were on the verge of becoming abuse that he most certainly did _not _want. But it was something; a reluctant pleasure from the touch that was still an emotion different from the misery he'd been stuck in for the past two weeks, and it was one he realized with a jolt that he almost didn't want to stop. It both disgusted and most of all surprised him, so much he gasped, and Bert seemed to take this as an invitation to keep going. "I thought you didn't want me, Poison," he taunted, stroking the younger's chest with his free hand.

"I d-don't, please...please, I don't..." Gerard murmured, and then couldn't prevent a small sound to escape his lips as Bert removed his hands completely.

"Really? I think you do..." Bert went on, suddenly tucking a hand _in _Gerard's jeans, and Gerard tensed as the older grasped him. "No."

"You said you'd give me anything I wanted, cutie." His voice took on a bit of a higher pitch, mocking Gerard's own slip-up. "As long as I told them where your baby was. So...it's only fair. Why, what's wrong? Not hurting you, am I?" He let out a small, sadistic chuckle like he thought he was hilarious. That was the only reason he was going to do this—to humiliate and degrade the younger. It sure as hell wasn't to make him happy, although Bert noticed he seemed to be achieving a similar reaction in one way or another.

Gerard writhed as the other only continued to violate him, using his left hand to grip Gerard's jeans and tug them a little further down, trying to further the embarrassment that was already clear upon his cheeks.

"Please..."

"You want this? Or you want me to stop?" Bert asked, and the younger couldn't even meet his gaze, both uncertainty and anguish written on his features. "Then make me. Fight me, Poison. Do something and make me stop."

In response, Gerard's eyes closed, and Bert leaned forward to kiss him, ignoring the pathetic effort the younger gave to push him back. "I can fucking _tell_ you're enjoying this, you know," he whispered when he pulled away, his grin increasing when Gerard lifted up into his grip and then gasped, horrified.

"What would your little boyfriend think? You letting me do this, while he's not even here? You _liking _it?"

"Fuck you," Gerard said finally, "Let go. Let me go!" He scowled and grabbed at the other's arm, digging his nails into the skin. Bert hissed in pain and then slapped the younger's mouth with his free hand.

"L—"

"Shut up!" Bert growled, putting his palm over Gerard's lips and pushing his head back against the side of the building so hard the Killjoy's vision flashed white.

Gerard whimpered, dazed by the pain, and then quieted himself before Bert could find another reason to hurt him. God, why was he _doing _this? Why couldn't he have shouted the moment Bert had touched him in the hall instead of pretending he could take on the older by himself? He could've fought harder in the hall, gotten free enough to yell for help—and even now, he could have been doing _something _other than simply taking it, right? He needed to keep fighting, keep trying to get away...anything! He couldn't be enjoying it—he _couldn't _be. Frank was the only person in the world he'd ever enjoyed the touch of, and yet...the fact that he was suddenly feeling something that resembled an actual emotion after so long...it unfortunately left him vulnerable.

Bert grinned at the submission Gerard wasn't aware was completely obvious in his actions, and then removed his hand from the Killjoy's mouth. "Moan for me," he murmured, his breathing slightly quickened, and Gerard squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his lips together.

"Just pretend I'm him," Bert went on, almost encouragingly, and Gerard was sickened as he realized the older was getting off from more than just from the knowledge he was anguishing the Killjoy. "Or...am I better?"

Gerard shook his head at that. "Stop," he whispered again, and then couldn't close his mouth fast enough, letting out a groan only loud enough that Bert could hear.

"I fucking knew it." Bert said, pressing himself closer, smirking. "Make this easy on yourself, Party. Just do what I want. I already hurt you, and I can do it again. You know that, right?"

Gerard nodded and closed his eyes, almost completely giving in to the pleasure he didn't want to be experiencing, half because that would make it end sooner. "Please, stop..." he tried a last time, knowing it was useless, and then tilted his head back, his mouth opening in another short moan.

"I will, cutie," Bert assured him quietly. "Just let me see your pretty little face when you come, yeah?"

Too far gone to fight anymore, Gerard let out a little cry of distress and unwittingly gave Bert what he wanted, swaying in utter exhaustion and defeat as Bert released him and stepped to the side, allowing the Killjoy to slump to his knees and lean back against the wall, panting.

"Oh. Good idea, Party."

Not understanding what he meant at first and truthfully not wanting to, Gerard reached down and desperately began to try and fix his jeans, his cheeks burning red in shame.

"C'mon, you're already on your knees..." Bert nudged him with a foot, taunting him with a suddenly obvious intent.

Gerard refused to raise his head. He didn't want to see how trapped he still was, nor remember how incapable he was of calling for help. "No, no, I'm sorry, I don't...please, I won't tell them, just please...please don't..."

"I know you won't tell, cutie," Bert cooed, "You won't tell them about anything."

Gerard nodded in agreement, frantically hoping that would somehow allow him to evade the suggested action.

"You won't because you know I can hurt them if you do."

"Don't touch them," Gerard growled, defiance creeping back in, and he reached up with a hand to hit the older. Bert grabbed it and jerked him forward, placing it on the front of his own pants, smirking as Gerard whined pitifully and weakly struggled to pull his fingers out of Bert's. "You're gonna do what I want, or I will. Hear me, Killjoy? I will."

Nodding again, unreservedly humiliated, Gerard hung his head and ended his efforts, swallowing hard._ Give in. He can't hurt them. You can't let him. You're worthless. You're nothing. They can't pay because of you. Just give in._

He didn't even exclaim when Bert reached down with his other hand and yanked on Gerard's hair, forcing him to straighten up, still kneeling, and then raise his head.

"Bite me and I swear—if your boyfriend's not already dead, he'll wish he was."

* * *

><p>At last coming back to himself, Frank heard nothing but his own heartbeat, beginning to pound as he struggled to open his eyes. What the <em>hell<em> had happened? Where was he? And why, he wondered, lifting both hands up to hold his aching head, did he feel like he'd been concussed all over again? Was that even possible? He was sure taking whatever blow he'd just recieved barely two weeks after getting the last hadn't helped it, anyway. Only...he didn't recall being hit, nor of any struggle he must have been involved in whatsoever. In fact, if the awful throb on the back of his skull hadn't been there, along with a sense of panic slowly overtaking his dazed senses, he probably would've believed he was still at Ashton's, and gone back to sleep like he wanted to, or maybe rolled over and hoped to touch Gerard's shoulder and bring the older into his arms.

He forced himself to raise his head, his vision fuzzy, and almost wished it hadn't cleared when it did, looking around the small room he was in. It was separated from the rest of the dimly lit place by a thick black curtain hanging from hooks in the ceiling, and, with a pang of fear, he vaguely understood.

_No, please—not again!_

He sat up in a panic, only then realizing he was on a small cot, throwing his arms out for balance with a gasp as it wobbled. Once it had steadied, he frowned at it. A _bed? _When the hell had anyone any Killjoy had been captured by given them one of those?

Frank screwed his eyes shut as he recalled that he'd had a bed in the cell he'd been placed in at the Correction Center he, Gerard, and Mikey had been forced to stay at for a few days. It had been for show, of course, like they believed that that one piece of furniture would somehow comfort them despite the fact they'd all been brought there against their will, but it was the only time he could ever remember his captors even _pretending _to care if he was comfortable. He couldn't be back in one of those, though—he couldn't be hurt again! He'd already been put through far more agony by the Goddamn government agency than he ever would have believed he would in his whole life; he didn't need anything to add to it!

He quickly jumped to the ground, ignoring the room as it spun dangerously, blinking dark spots away and stumbling over to the curtain, staring at it in confusion. The cells in the Center had not been separated by a piece of fabric, but a thick wall of clear, soundproof plastic on either side, something all of them had been convinced was merely to taunt them. Frank had been able to read Gerard's lips, but not hear his voice—that had been torture enough without everything _else _they'd done to them.

The thought not as comforting as he believed it should have been, Frank managed to find the courage to pull it back, just enough he could see, bracing himself for whatever it was.

Outside of the little sectioned off room was the rest of what appeared to be a fairly large basement, complete with a beaten up couch, a television, a table, a fridge—and six other teens casually either sitting or leaning on the walls, seeming absolutely careless and unaware of him, caught up in their own conversations.

"What...?" Frank mumbled, stepping out from behind the curtain, staring at the _kids_. So he hadn't been captured...? Or else, if he had, these were the youngest agents of BLI he had ever seen. Had they really gone as far as enlisting teenagers to do their dirty work?

He swallowed hard and reached out for something solid to support him, but his fingers found nothing, and he distantly heard someone off to the side of him call, "Hey, wait—lie back down!"

Frank did—right where he was, causing a loud _thud _to echo throughout the room, every one of them going silent and turning to stare at him.

"Idiot!" the same boy growled, going over to the dazed twenty-year-old and grabbing his arm, hauling him up with another's help, waiting until Frank's eyelids had stopped fluttering before he asked, "Can you stand?"

Frank didn't respond, wincing, and the boy rolled his eyes. "Get 'em to the couch."

Blinking hard, Frank managed to recover, sighing softly as they lowered him to sit on the soft fabric. He took a moment to reorient himself, his eyes on the ground, and then raised his head. "Where...?"

"West side of Skyline," one replied immediately, gesturing at a very young boy, maybe just entering his teenage years. "A couple blocks from where Jesse...found you."

Frank stared at the kid, lifting a hand to rub the back of his head. He'd been overpowered by _him__? _What kind of Killjoy couldn't take on a thirteen-year-old? Embarrassed, he felt his cheeks go hot, and he hoped none of them noticed, tilting his chin down so his dark hair fell in his face, biting his lower lip.

"Yeah," Jesse smiled, clearly proud, though Frank was unsure of what. "We coulda left you there, but we saved you!"

Frank contemplated saying something about how it was Jesse's fault he couldn't have saved himself, but decided against it. "Thanks," he muttered instead, still coming off as sarcastic.

The first one who'd spoken smiled a bit. "You're not on pills, are you?"

"I've never taken 'em."

He nodded and then cleared his throat. "We thought we'd found the last of the resisters months ago."

"Resisters?"

"How long have you been here?" the kid laughed jokingly, then stopped as Frank only raised his head to watch him, patiently waiting for an answer, and changed his tone. "How long _have _you been here?"

"I don't know."

"C'mon, I barely shoved you!" Jesse murmured, eyes wide, clearly taking the words the wrong way.

"No, I mean—a couple days? A week? I'm not sure."

They were all focused completely on him in awe by now, intrigued.

"How'd you get in?" one of the oldest-looking ones spoke up, frowning.

"I—"

"And _why?_" the only girl interrupted, "Why would you _want _to come here?"

"We were—"

"We?"

"Stop!" Frank winced, gently massaging his temples. "Please. It's not important how I got in, and yes. We."

"Who's we?" Jesse asked.

"Who're _you?_"

The one who'd told him to lie down a few seconds too late held his hand out. "Brett."

Frank didn't move, woozy again from the pounding ache in his head that the perplexity of the situation wasn't helping, and Brett frowned, clearing taking it as a gesture he didn't want to shake his hand, moving his arm back to point at the others, who very slowly introduced themselves. Craig was eighteen, Elliot was seventeen, Jake, Brett, and Alexi were sixteen, and Jesse was the youngest at fourteen. All of them had short, dark hair except for Alexi, whose almost strawberry blonde locks went down a few inches past her shoulders. And, aside from Jake and Elliot, who had very dark skin, they were all incredibly pale, like they hardly ever stepped outside the basement.

"I'm Fr—ah, G—um—" Frank stuttered to a halt, irresolute on how exactly he should respond.

Brett cocked an eyebrow, his amusement obvious. "Hm?"

Frank clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Maybe I don't trust you yet. You did practically kidnap me."

"Kidnap!" Craig actually laughed. "Are you crazy? First of all, you were stumblin' around like you were drunk."

"No I..." Frank trailed off and frowned, again trying to remember what had happened and again finding his mind blank. He'd been with Bert, and he had a very vague memory of them stopping off in some building he hadn't recoginized, and then...nothing.

"So screw that," Craig went on, "I didn't see you puttin' up a fight. And second, we _easily _could've left you there for that Watcher you alerted to come and take you away. It would'a been a lot less difficult to get back here if we hadn't'a had to lug your tiny ass around _and_ stay hidden. But we didn't. That's called saving_,_ kid. Not kidnapping. If you don't trust us, we'll have to assume you have a reason not to."

"I thought you were a 'Crow," Jesse said with a shrug like it'd been no big deal.

Craig eyed the younger. "He's five feet tall! _You're_ almost taller than him—even if he had been, you could've taken him on yourself!"

Frank stared at them, unsure if he should be offended or not, and then narrowed his eyes as another thought came to him. "You're...are you part of that A.P. thing?"

Crossing his arms, Craig raised the pitch of his voice a little, as if taunting him. "I don't know. We'd have to trust you to tell you that."

Frank rolled his eyes. For being only two years younger, the kid didn't seem to have half the maturity Frank would have expected. "Jesus Chr—my name's _Ghoul, _okay? Fun Ghoul."

"Fun Ghoul?" Jesse stared at him, grinning a bit and clearly trying to hold back a giggle. "What's that, a code name?"

"And why does it sound familiar?" Jake murmured, half to himself, looking at the ground.

Alexi pointed at him after a moment. "You're that Killjoy from the television, aren't you?"

Frank swallowed hard, unsure how to answer so instead saying nothing at all.

"You're supposed to be dead."

"I _will _be if any of you—"

"We're not working for BLI!" Craig insisted, and then gave an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "_Yes. _We're 'part of that A.P. thing.'"

"You hide down here?"

"Yeah. When we're not messing up something they're doing," he grinned.

Frank blinked very slowly, unimpressed. "You've got six teenagers."

The eighteen-year-old sighed, like that was something that irritated him. "At _this _base. We've got four in the whole city. I'd say there's more like thirty of us all together. We get a lot done. And anyway, BLI broadcasted an entire messageto everyone that you and a couple of others had 'finally been exterminated' and whatever. I don't get it—how're you here?"

"I shouldn't be," Frank mumbled, and then shook his head. "I...I'm staying...somewhere."

"Are the others alive, too?"

"Yeah."

"Why would you come here?"

Frank frowned, wondering if they were even aware of what had happened to Battery. "Is there any other place we _could've _gone?"

"Sleeping in the desert would be better than this hell, trust me."

The Killjoy managed a chuckle. "You think that?" he asked softly, and Craig shrugged.

"It's not. Trust _me._ I've been out there for years. It's hot and nasty and lonely and—and you should just be lucky you have places to sleep that aren't in a car or a booth in a diner."

"You lived out there?" Alexi murmured. "Why?"

"Nowhere else to go."

Craig eyed him. "Didn't you come from a city or something?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Why didn't you just rebel from inside? You can do a lot more damage that way."

"I didn't have a choice!" Frank exclaimed, and then averted his gaze. "None of us did."

"Why?"

"It doesn't matter." Frank rubbed at his eyes. "Hell...what time is it?"

"Around midnight," Brett replied, and caught the panicked expression that crossed Frank's face. "Relax. You weren't out that long from what happened. You woke up right after we got back and then fell back asleep. You probably don't remember that, but...you weren't hurt too much."

Frank shifted, not sure how that was supposed to comfort him aside from ruling out the possiblity of another concussion. But, more importantly, he realized now that he was probably causing the others to panic, and so he looked around, gesturing at what he believed was the exit to the place. "I really have to..." he trailed off, all at once becoming aware of the fact he had absolutely no idea where he was, nor how to get back. He hadn't been living here as long as Ashton had, and he barely recalled what the man's apartment even looked like from the outside.

Jesse almost seemed hurt. "Fine. We don't care," he muttered, crossing his arms and turning sideways.

Frank frowned. "...What?"

Craig gave the younger boy a little push to stop his pouting, shrugging. "I don't know. We were thinking that...if you _didn't _turn out to be on meds..."

As lost at the words as he was from the others, Frank tilted his head a bit.

Brett cleared his throat. "Look, I don't know what we were thinking exactly. We need as many people to help us out as possible, and we...were wondering if maybe you'd...help us out."

Frank stared at them. "Thirty of you? You do know there's at least a thousand BLI agents in that building, right? Dracs and whatever else?"

"Dracs?" Elliot finally piped up. "You still worry about those?"

The Killjoy was running out of confused expressions to give them.

Elliot laughed. "You're really out of it, aren't you? Dracs stay on the inside of the wall around the building. Like guards. 'Crows are the ones you should watch out for. They patrol the streets and take people in. Dracs are _nothing_."

"'Crows?"

"SCARECROWS," Alexi cut in. "You know, Watcher vans? Those belong to them."

"...Are they worse?"

"Hell yes they're worse!" Craig snickered. "Dracs can't do anything. Or at least, not unless it's in their own building. 'Crows are allowed to do whatever they have to to arrest whoever's breaking laws and assure—"—he raised his fingers to form air quotes and made his voice monotone—"—'everything remains perfect.' And I thought you said there were more of you?"

"Well, yeah...like, eighteen?"

"Then that's almost _fifty_ people. Don't tell me you all want to do nothing like the rest of the city is, right?"

"Of course not!" Frank scowled, irritated at the accusation. "We were..." he struggled for words. "...resting." _And playing music—absolutely something Killjoys should be doing._

Brett snorted. "Well, when you're done _relaxing, _there may just be something you could help us out with."

"Like what?"

The sixteen-year-old shrugged and then gestured at a piece of paper on the table. Frank frowned, leaned closer, and looked it over, realizing it was a drawing of what appeared to be a large stadium, letters and numbers scribbled onto it, along with a ton of red circles. He didn't say anything, waiting for someone to explain, and then glanced over at the picture that had been clipped to the side of it. It was shitty quality, but he still made out a man with dark brown hair in a professional-looking black suit, his mouth open in the middle of a sentence, addressing an audience that couldn't be seen off to the left. "Who's that?"

"Jared Adams," Craig replied quietly, like he was afraid of someone hearing him speak the name. That or he was simply too disgusted by it to care about saying it louder. "He's, as far as we've seen, the guy in charge of all the broadcasts and shit. He's the only one who's ever done them, so..." He trailed off with a shrug.

Suddenly interested, Frank looked at the map again, realizing what it was for now. "You disrupt those, right? How?"

Craig crossed his arms. "You wanna see? He's got one he's doing tonight, and we _could _use extra hands..."

Frank bit his lip, swallowing hard, indecisive. Could he agree to that without even asking the others? Then again...he was fairly sure that by now, hours after he'd disappeared, they probably thought he'd been captured. They might start to see him as Fun Ghoul again if he turned up not only free and proving he could be on his own, but also with the answer to how they could help out.

He gave a soft sigh finally and smiled. "Yeah. We'll help."

Brett grinned as if he'd never heard better news. "Great!" He held out his hand again.

Frank hesitated as a strong sense of what just may have been optimism washed over him, relieved to finally have that again. Then he reached out and shook the other's hand.

Craig cracked a smile, crossing his arms, pleased at the sudden trust the Killjoy was showing. Maybe they'd have a chance against BLI after all.

"Welcome to the A.P., _Fun Ghoul._"

* * *

><p>"You don't remember <em>anything<em> about what it looked like?"

Frank glanced at Elliot with an aggravated sigh, wishing he would stop prodding for information Frank had explained multiple times that he didn't have. "No!" he whispered back, peering out from behind the wall they'd stopped at. "It was the first time I've been out since we got here!"

Elliot leaned against the wall, and the Killjoy almost didn't notice until he went to say something else, surprised when he found he was alone, turning around and walking back. "Why—what're you doing?"

"Listen; I'm not searching the whole _city_. Especially not when there're Watchers." He averted his gaze as Frank's eyes widened in despair. "We'll look when it's _light _out. Maybe you'll remember then."

Frank scowled, clenching his hands into fists. "_No._ I'm not giving up. I have to find them."

"You have to find them when we're the only targets on the streets? Great." He rubbed at his face. "Listen, kid—"

"Stop _fucking _calling me kid!" Frank hissed, his headache and lack of sleep allowing his anger to get the best of him. "I'm older than you!"

Elliot looked up, startled at his tone, and the twenty-year-old pointed almost threateningly at him. "Listen to _me_, kid—I didn't plan on any of this happening, okay? I didn't plan on running into that van, or getting taken to your place, or anything! You said you'd help me get back. We've only been looking for ten minutes!"

"All I'm saying is that it'd be easier if it wasn't night." Elliot held his hands up, dismissing the arguement. "I'm going back. I'm not getting captured 'cause you ran away from home. We'll look _later._"

Frank watched him turn and start off, gesturing subtly with his hand for the older to follow. The Killjoy didn't move, scowling. "Fine. Where's the street I was on?"

Elliot pointed back at the concrete without speaking a word or stopping, and Frank rolled his eyes. "Thanks!" he called quietly.

He let out a sharp breath of irritation and then glanced at the ground. Would it really be that bad to wait a handful of hours to find them again? Maybe Elliot was right—if it were to be daylight, he might see something he remembered better. He could hardly see to the end of the alley now, the streetlights very dim, and he was also tired. Not tired, _exhausted. _If he didn't look like he'd been run over a few times by now, it'd be a miracle. His head ached, his muscles ached, and yet he knew he had to find the others as soon as possible. He was making them worry, and anyway, he missed Gerard terribly. He still didn't know why, but since they'd been captured and even more so since they'd been rescued, he'd felt a need to be around him, both to protect him and be protected, and, most recently, to receive comfort and give it back, as he clearly needed it. If something were to happen to him—_anything_—

Frank's thoughts were stopped dead along with his heart as he heard footsteps from nearby, and he immediately pressed himself against the wall in fear, shakily backing away as they came to a stop. He gasped as a hand clamped over his mouth and an arm grabbed him around his waist, struggling until he heard an almost inaudible, "Ssh."

He froze, staring straight ahead, and then Elliot slowly began inching back, releasing him and then taking a hold of his arm to get him walking.

"Don't move!"

Elliot's grip tightened to the point where it hurt, but Frank was suddenly grinning, and he whipped around to face the girl pointing a gun at the younger holding him. "Re!"

"Ghoul..." Rejection breathed, relieved, and then she shook her head, glaring at Elliot. "Let him go!"

"No, no, no, wait!" Frank shook his wrist free, stepping in front of Elliot and placing his hands out. "He's with me! He's not—he's—" he frowned when he couldn't think of what to say, dropping his arms. "Just put the gun away, Re..."

Rejection cocked an eyebrow but did so, tucking it back under her shirt so it was concealed, and then she placed her hands on her hips, taking on a tone that was almost motherly, like she was scolding him.

"Where the _hell _have you been?"

* * *

><p>The entire walk back, which only ended up being somewhere around fifteen minutes, Frank quietly explained to Rejection what had happened, Elliot chiming in whenever he could to either defend the A.P. from what he thought could be an insult (though the only thing Frank had said even close to that had been that the group was <em>little<em>) and to add details that Frank couldn't, about the A.P. itself. Rejection was clearly intrigued, nudging the twenty-year-old's shoulder during a brief lull in their speaking and giving him a nod, which he felt a flutter of happiness at, relieved he once again had something they could look up to him again for doing. He'd been such a waste of their time before, and he was thrilled he'd finally helped out.

"But anyway," Elliot cleared his throat quietly, turning as he realized his pace had been quicker than theirs despite not knowing where he was going. He always had a tendency to do that—if you weren't quick, you would be caught, and that meant killed, or worse. "If you guys're gonna help, we need to talk."

"What do you mean?" Rejection asked curiously.

"I mean," he clarified, "that it's tonight. The broadcast. We've already got it planned out, but..."

"But what?"

"Well, it's all a little complicated. Not that I think you can't do it!" he added quickly, putting a hand out to dismiss the accusation that hadn't been placed on him. "It's just...we always have to plan these things really carefully, and we can't mess up, or else..."

Frank shivered, apparently noticeably enough Rejection saw, because she gently touched his shoulder. He cringed immediately but managed not to jerk away, and then relaxed as she dropped her hand to her side again. He kept his eyes on the ground until Elliot spoke again.

"For this time, we only need, like, four more people. That'd be enough. That way you guys can help us with actually disrupting the feed, and our guys, the ones who know their way around the place best, can keep watch. It almost ended badly for us last time because we only had one kid watching three entrances."

"You don't join with the others?" Frank questioned. "The other groups?"

"Not for little things like this. We've always had it covered, because we're closest. I mean, they've gotten some, too, but...usually it's us." He shrugged. "And we do have meetings once and a while, it's just...not lately. After the guard picked up a few weeks ago, we sort of lost contact with the others. It's too much trouble to get to them, so it's kind of just been us six since then."

"And you just...go on?" Rejection tilted her head a little, and Elliot nodded somberly. "Sure. It's not like they're dead or something...or at least..." He trailed off for a long moment and then swallowed hard, shaking his head. "We've got our own shit to handle, and they've got theirs. If it's important enough...you have to learn to keep going, even if you lose someone, you know?"

Rejection looked away and blinked to keep her eyes from watering. "Yeah. I know."

"Re?" Frank murmured, changing the subject as he acknowledged how dejected they were all becoming. "Were you the only one out here?"

"Probably," Rejection answered after a long moment. "There were others earlier, but...we were looking for, like, two hours. They're probably back by now."

"...You were all looking for me?"

"Why do you look so surprised?" Rejection laughed weakly. "Of course we were, dumbass. What'd you think, we'd just leave you?"

_Kinda, _Frank thought, but decided it was better to keep that to himself, and so he simply smiled and nodded. "Thanks."

Rejection nudged him again. "We're all in this together. Even after we win."

"Or die trying," Elliot quietly pointed out with a shrug, and both of them looked at him solemnly.

"Yeah." Rejection agreed, giving a long, tired, shaky sigh. "Yeah. Or that."

* * *

><p>When the door opened, every single one of the occupants of Ashton's living room turned to look, their eyes widening as Rejection came in, allowing Elliot to enter beside her, looking quite nervous after taking in all of the confused and slightly angry expressions of the Killjoys, clearly having expected either Frank or bad news, <em>not <em>a new, unknown face.

"Re, who's—?" Jet began, and then cut off with a gasp as something was tossed at him from behind the two. He instinctively grabbed it with his uninjured hand, blinking at the thing for a few moments before he realized it was a box of painkillers. With a grin, he raised his head again, in time to see Frank step in front of the two, a shy smile on his face. "...Hi."

"Holy shit," Skye murmured in response, and then grinned, rushing over to give the twenty-year-old a hug.

"Thank God," Mikey breathed, shaking his head, and then his next question of, "What happened?" was chorused with almost every single one of the others, staring at him in surprise, several coming closer. Elise literally jumped on him once Skye had pulled back, wrapping her legs around his waist and tightly hugging him as she murmured how glad she was he was all right.

Frank smiled, surprised at the sudden affection, returning the embrace and disregarding the pang of sadness and regret he received from doing so. All Elise did was remind him of Missile...and he knew the others had noticed it, too. The resemblance was uncanny; she even did the same little tilt of her head when she smiled. Almost overwhelmed, he struggling not allow the emotions to show when she dropped back down to her feet, grinning crazily up at him.

"I, um...I was..." he began, looking back up at the others, his cheeks turning pink as he saw from the extent of their relief how worried they'd all been. "Sorry."

"We're just glad you're alive, kid," Ashton said, and then looked around at the others, hoping to find no one else missing, his gaze lingering on Bert the longest, who was settled in one of the chairs, his arms crossed, motionless. He'd come back a half hour or so after the rest of them had left, apparently with Gerard, who'd been mumbling something or other about someone he never saw attacking him. Bert had insisted he had no idea what had happened, and that he'd come back that way to find the barely conscious Killjoy against the side of the apartment. He'd helped the Killjoy inside, and then, as Gerard went to the bathroom to clean up, refusing help from anyone, the older had gone off on his own, changing his shirt and not speaking another word, seemingly content despite the Killjoy's injuries.

"No one else is still out, right?" Ashton continued once he'd met Bert's gaze, turning away. "Everyone's back?"

The Killjoys glanced at each other and then at last gave small nods, relaxing just a little more at that. Frank watched them, frowned, gave a sigh, and then stepped past them, into the hallway. Goddamn it—had Gerard locked himself in the bathroom the entire time? Had he even _noticed _Frank had been gone?

As he was about to knock on the door, it cracked open, and Gerard slid out into the hallway, his gaze on the ground, not even seeing the other at first, an arm around his stomach. He was very pale, Frank observed, and along with his lip being swollen, there were cuts and one or two forming bruises on his face, like he'd been in a fight, and Frank felt terrible for being irritated. "...Baby?"

Gerard flinched and looked up, his eyes going wide and giving away every bit of his emotions—fear, relief, hurt—all at once. "Frankie—" he choked out after a moment of useless stuttering, and then grabbed the younger and brought him close, relieved and desperate for the comfort.

"Gee, I'm...I'm fine..." Frank smiled a bit, nuzzling Gerard's shoulder, giving a contented sigh. Gerard didn't respond or say anything at all for a long minute, allowing Frank to kiss at his cheek and rub his back, more interaction than the older had consented to in days.

"I...I thought you were..."

Frank heaved a sigh. "I know. I didn't mean to worry anyone." He pressed his lips to the side of Gerard's mouth, and the twenty-four-year-old shuddered, reluctantly pulling back and averting his gaze, guilt almost overwhelming him. "Sorry." he mumbled.

"About what?" Frank asked, slightly confused, taking the older's hand. "And what happened to you? Are you okay?"

Gerard recoiled from the touch, murmuring nothing but another weak apology before moving past his love to the living room again, never once raising his head.

Frank turned to watch him go, frowning, and then went to use the bathroom before rejoining the others, eyeing Gerard as he sat on the couch. He looked like a child, all the way in the corner of the thing, his knees drawn up to his chest, eyes focused somewhere behind the rest of them. He was clearly distressed about something, and after a moment's thought, Frank decided it was better he left the older alone, no matter how much he wanted to lean against his boyfriend's reassuring form and have Gerard's arms around him again. He chose to lean against the wall instead, folding his arms across his chest and glancing at Elliot as he came over to him.

"You're sure you guys want to help?" he asked quietly, almost nervously, and Frank nodded. "Of course...anything. Just...tell us what to do."

Elliot cleared his throat and turned to the others, who quieted down despite him never having said a word, eager. "Um," he began awkwardly, and then swallowed hard, wishing he had thought to bring the map of the auditorium to point at and make it less confusing. And, if nothing else, give him something to look at instead of meeting their gazes. He'd always hated being in front of people, for any reason, leaving this the first time he'd done so since...the last presentation he'd done in school all those years ago, if that.

"Okay, well..." he began. "Tomorrow—well, today—" He paused and briefly shut his eyes, blushing furiously. "You can see the map later, I didn't bring it, but it'll be pretty easy to get when you know what the plan is..." He blinked and then made some weird gesture with his hand, half from the surprise that the others were still listening intently, their expressions displaying anything but the boredom or annoyance he would have expected.

"Okay." Elliot murmured again, more in confirmation to himself that he was being listened to, and then he shook his head.

"So here's what we're gonna do..."


	20. Paranoia's All I Got Left

**A/N: HOLY SHIT. *flings update at all of you* LOOK I ACTUALLY DID IT. There're probably gonna be a few mistakes because I wrote half of this half a year ago (and there are just SO. MANY. CHARACTERS. to keep track of) and also I got pretty sick and tired of re-reading the same thing and staring at it and decided to just publish it, buuuut in any case, I hope you like it! **

**(I SWEAR NEXT CHAPTER STUFF WILL HAPPEN. OR AT LEAST...IT'LL START LEADING UP TO SOMETHING HAPPENING. Trust me I'm as tired of writing all this depressing shit as you are of reading it, it needs action, and I'M GETTING TO IT.)**

**Warnings: Flashback/mention of previous non-con.**

**Chapter title is from the song Papercut by Linkin Park. **

Chapter Twenty

Paranoia's All I Got Left

"I want to tell the Doc."

Gerard blinked and turned to face his boyfriend, who had come up behind him as he stood watching the A.P. as they tied together everything for what was about to happen. It had all been planned out over the course of the night, and while nearly everyone had offered, it was only Gerard, Frank, Rejection, Bullet, and the rest of the six members that ended up being the ones who would put the plan into action. Craig had decided it would be less obvious than a whole group, and with them having done the same with only six people many times before, ten was more than enough to have extra guard, still do everything right, _and_ get away uncaught without so many to assure kept up with the pace and weren't lost.

"What?" Gerard asked in regards to the question, reaching out to take Frank's hand.

Frank pulled away and shifted uncomfortably, placing his arms behind his back and straightening up. Whenever he became incredibly anxious, his old habits came back without him even being aware of it. His father had constantly berated him about having better posture, along with a million other things, and Frank still occasionally catagorized being afraid with being in front of the man, even after all this time. Gerard always listened a bit more intently when he did that, though, and he eyed Frank curiously, but his boyfriend would not look up as he spoke. "I want to tell him. About..."

Feeling a sharp pang of cold terror go through his body, Gerard shook his head. "Why?"

"I—I'm—I can't sleep." Frank reached up and rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand, as if to try and convey his constant, intense exhaustion in one motion. "And I can't think straight. And I fucking—I feel _horrible, _Gerard…" He glanced away, regretful he was talking about this after they'd both been silent so long, even more so as he admitted to his newly developed mannerisms. "Like I'm never going to be clean again. Like no matter how many times I take a shower, it's not going to help."

Gerard bit his lip. Suddenly Frank's own increasingly long intervals in the bathroom with the water running made sense—how could he have not realized that before? _Oh right, because you've been busy feeling sorry for yourself. _"Then just…just tell him that."

"I _can't, _Gerard. He's gonna wonder why. I mean…I don't want anyone to know anymore than you do, but…it's fucking_ killing _me, and I don't have anyone else to talk about it to, and—"

"I'm here," Gerard interrupted, frowning, trying to remain steady.

Frank clearly saw through the façade; he even seemed a bit irritated at it. "You're shaking already. I just…I mean, what if—"

"No." Gerard cut him off, startling the younger with the intensity of his voice. "It didn't. Nothing did, okay? We're fine."

"Fine..." Frank echoed numbly, his voice hollow, his eyes unfocused. He seemed to be trying to think of how to explain that that was the very last word he could possibly think of to describe either of them.

"You just...you just can't."

Frank blinked, coming back to himself. "What? I _can't?_"

"Don't. Please."

"Just him! I didn't say I was gonna go around bragging that our enemy fucked us!"

Gerard's eyes went wide, and he immediately stuck an arm out and put his hand over Frank's mouth like the other hadn't been whispering, like they weren't alone. "Stop!"

"What the hell?" Frank mumbled, stepping out of his reach, scowling. "Like you don't want help, too! Come on, Gerard, how many times have you locked yourself in the bathroom for half an hour? Or move when I try to touch you? Why do you do that, if it's not because of what happened?"

"I don't know. I'm…fine." Gerard shook his head again. "But you can't tell anyone."

"Why?"

"Because! Because if...you do...then they'll..."

Frank tilted his chin down slightly in a gesture to continue as the older stammered to a halt.

"I don't know! I don't know and I don't _want _to know what they'll do, okay?"

"What, you think they're gonna laugh? Tell you you can't be our fucking leader anymore?"

Gerard flinched.

"Goddamn." Frank muttered, his eyes widening as he understood. He took another step back and looked his boyfriend over in such disgust that Gerard actually had to fight the urge to run away from the situation. "That's it? That's why? Are you crazy?"

"They already fucking think I'm useless! You didn't hear Bullet back at the warehouse, did you? When he was so nicely telling me how I'm not good enough? He was right! And if they know about...about _that_...about how I couldn't stop it...they're gonna realize it, and no one is gonna look up to—to us anymore!"

"Yeah, _us!_" the younger spat. "Gerard, this is all about you. You don't give a _shit _how much it fucked me up, do you? As long as they still picture you as the same Goddamn perfect leader you've always wanted to be? Is that it?"

"Frank, no, please—"

"I really mean a lot to you, don't I?"

"Frank," Gerard moaned as the younger turned around. "That's not what I…"

He trailed off and shook his head in hatred of himself. His excuses weren't going to make a difference. Frank had stopped again before he was too far away to hear his pleas, though, his head lowered, hands shoved in his pockets, trembling like he had too much fury inside for his small body to handle.

Gerard finally looked up. "Frank, I'm sorry. It wasn't that…it's…"

"Tell me what, then." Frank whirled back to face him, and Gerard suddenly realized the younger hadn't been shaking in anger—he was _crying. _

Gerard's mouth formed the beginning of a sentence, but no sound came out, and after a moment he gave up.

Frank scoffed at his silence. "Fine, Gerard. I won't tell them. I won't tell anyone, not ever. Is that what you want?" He gave the bitterest laugh Gerard had ever heard, wiping tears from his cheeks. "Great. I love you too, Gerard."

The words were spat so mordantly that it felt like he'd slapped the older, and Gerard was rendered speechless by the blow, unable to do anything but watch as Frank again turned, this time storming off, up the stairs and out of the basement entirely without a moment of hesitation.

"Frankie…" Gerard took a step forward, and then, not quite understanding how it happened, he was abruptly on the ground, staring up at the ceiling in shock, a throbbing pain in his elbow. He must have made some noise, or else hit the floor pretty hard, because there were footsteps on the stairs, and then—

"Ah, shit!"

Dazed, Gerard raised his head, watching Craig hurry down the rest of the stairs, give Gerard a fleeting look to assure he wasn't hurt, and then lean over the table Gerard must have hit when he'd taken the fall he didn't remember, scowling. "Great!"

"Sorry," Gerard murmured, propping himself up on his other arm, uncertain what Craig was upset over. Then, he looked at the table beside him, seeing that the mug of water that had been on the table had been knocked over, spilling the contents all over the map, the red ink smearing beyond recognition.

The Killjoy widened his eyes as he understood. "I'm sorry! I didn't—I don't know—"

"It's okay," the younger said, not very convincingly, still staring at the paper. Gerard took that as it was not all right at all, and he bit his lip. "I'm sorry," he tried again, and this time Craig looked down at him, frowning as he looked the older over. It wasn't a frown of anger, however; it was a frown of complete pity, something that the twenty-four-year-old felt worse seeing than he would have any other emotion. He didn't take the A.P. member's hand when it was offered, instead pushing himself to his feet, half bent over to hold onto the couch beside him for support, his voice barely a whisper as he again apologized.

"It's fine," Craig said after a long moment, sighing loudly. "At least you guys saw it once, right?"

Gerard lowered his head so his hair fell in his eyes, attempting to hide, and then moved past him to go upstairs. The building was empty; every footstep echoed, and his shadow crept along beside him in the rubble and cracked tile. He stopped, staring at it for a minute. That's all he was, wasn't it? A shadow of his former self; a ghost, even. He'd been ghosted after all; by himself, by BLI, by everything _but_ a gun like he had feared. Was that what the others saw? Just a nothing following blindly behind the people he used to lead?

Tears burned at his eyes, and his fingers found their way to his left wrist, absentmindedly pulling at his sleeve and scratching at the wounds already there until the pain brought him out of his daze and got him moving again. Once outside, he took a deep breath to calm himself, not glancing at any of them, keeping his eyes on the ground. He had to focus, he had to do everything perfectly at the stage in order to prove to them he could do something _other _than be a nuisance, even if that's all he truly was. He wanted them to forgive him for ruining the map, and Frank to forgive him for fighting, and—

"Whoa, Party," Jesse murmured, and Gerard blinked, vaguely feeling that there was a grip on his wrist, pulling it up, thankfully leaving the jacket sleeve where it was. "You're bleeding..."

Gerard gawked at the red that had dripped down to his fingertips, and then shook his hand free, holding it to his chest. "I fell earlier," he said, because, well, he _had, _and Craig hadn't seemed intrigued enough with him to realize it'd been his other arm that had hit the table. As far as they knew, and as far as Craig could substantiate, that was exactly what had happened.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Gerard gave a small laugh, as if to say it was ridiculous to believe he wasn't, and then dropped the subject, glancing at his boyfriend, who was at the end of the corridor, keeping watch. The sun fell on the younger's shoulders, making his hair shine, creating a sort of aura around him. He turned back then, not looking at Gerard, but the twenty-four-year-old still made out that his eyes sparkled in a similar way, entranced despite the distance. There was still life in them, but unlike before, when carelessness and hope and curiosity had also been visible...they were empty, fearful, too cautious. He'd noticed Mikey's were the same way, and, though he hadn't known most of the others long enough to observe any real change, he knew they'd been affected too. BLI had taken their former personalities away, and they all were aware such feelings wouldn't be returned to them until the agency burned to the ground, if they ever returned at all.

"You sure you're good, Party?" Bullet sneered, coming up beside him. The younger had been spending way too much time with Ashton's friend to not have taken on an even more snotty than usual attitude. Gerard turned to him and nodded anyway, and Bullet looked like he was holding back a laugh. "Because, you know, you could've stayed at Ashton's if this is too much."

"I'm fine," Gerard replied, his irritation growing.

"I'm just saying...Bert told me—"

Gerard's fingers were around the younger's wrist in a flash, painfully tight, roughly shoving the other back against the railing of the steps with his other arm. "Told you_ what?_" he practically growled, and Bullet stared at him with wide eyes.

"What'd he fucking say?"

"Nothing! Fuck! He just told me how it would've been a better idea or whatever to bring someone else because...you're so...like _this,_" Bullet looked the older over, then jerked on his arm. "Now let go!"

The twenty-four-year-old held onto him a moment longer, frowning, and then stepped back, blinking rapidly as he came back to his senses, his expression softening. "Shit, I'm sorry, I—"

"Whatever." Bullet rolled his eyes and shoved past the older, going down to the end of the corridor and leaning against the wall. "Your boyfriend's fucking crazy," he muttered without looking up, and Frank frowned, glancing back at his love, who had grabbed the railing, still facing the opposite direction, and leaned over it like he was going to be sick. Frank for once had nothing to say, and so he simply ignored the comment, watching as Craig exited the building with the small bag of what they would need, nodding at all of them. "Everyone ready?"

Getting less than reassuring murmurs of yes in response, Craig cleared his throat and gestured, beginning to walk. "Let's go. Like I said before, it's all pretty easy. I'll go over it again on the way."

* * *

><p><em>Easy my ass, <em>Gerard grumbled silently to himself, gripping onto the railing of the catwalk that was at least twenty feet above the audience of zombie-citizens. The coast was clear, and there was no one stopping him from going out onto it, except for maybe his common sense telling him that if he went, he was going to fall and _die. _

_"Oh, no," _Brett had murmured, _"it's safe. They hid the stuff up there to try to get it away from us, but people walk up there themselves. As long as you hold onto the railing, you'll be fine."_

Hold onto the railing, okay, easy enough. If only he had both hands available—his left was tightly clutching the small pair of wire cutters he would need to complete the task he'd been given. Shaking his head, Gerard took a deep breath and stepped forward, the entire bridge wobbling dangerously, and he gasped, resisting the urge to jerk back.

_Goddamn it. Suck it up, Party Poison. They're__ counting on you._

With another shaky inhalation, Gerard forced himself to continue, his eyes focusing on the middle area, where all the equipment was, his right hand beginning to hurt from how tightly he was grasping the railing.

Finally, he slumped to his knees in front of the transmitters, breathing hard and feeling sick and dizzy again. He held the wire cutters tighter in his grip and then positioned them, blinking back the dark spots that were suddenly in front of his vision. _Fuck _no—he wouldn't fail them. He swallowed hard and shifted, focusing on anything he could—the fact that at any moment he could be caught and killed, anything. Looking up, he stared at the platform the television camera was set up on, turning his attention down to the stage below him, the audience droning on and on, making his thoughts even fuzzier.

_Focus, _he ordered silently, and then went over Craig's directions in his head another time. _'Wait for the signal—then snap the receiver.'_

The signal would be the briefest flash of sunlight on Elliot's mirror behind the cameras, just enough to alert him and no one else. He had to keep his eyes on the platform; had to continue blinking to keep his vision clear enough to _catch _the signal. _How great would that be?_ he thought, trying to steady the trembling wire cutters, breathing as deeply as he could manage. Have everyone counting on the supposedly great Party Poison only to have him fuck up what they'd been planning for two weeks, and maybe even get them all captured.

Something flashed from behind the cameras, and Gerard hesitated. That was it, right?

Like he'd read the Killjoy's mind, Elliot flashed the mirror again before ducking back down, and Gerard turned back, grabbing the cutters with both hands and clamping them down hard on the thick wire. He used all the strength he had in him to snap it, terrified for a moment as it remained in one piece, then felt a satisfying shudder as the wire seperated into two. He heard a bit of static from below, and he managed a weak smile from the sheer relief of being successful. He took a moment to gather the rest of his energy and then forced himself to his feet, staggering as the entire walkway swayed again.

"_Meet outside the back door again. Don't run, you'll only draw attention to yourself."_

Gerard grabbed onto the door handle for support before going through it, looking around, and then somehow managed to find his way back to where they had all entered the place, going through it and hearing Craig hiss, "Party!"

He turned to where the rest of them had crossed the little back-lot and towards the corridor leading to the street again. Craig waved him over, and the black-haired Killjoy swallowed hard, hurriedly catching up with them and then glancing at Frank, who refused to make eye-contact with him, though nodded as if to say he'd done well.

"Was that it? Did it work?"

"Hell yeah, it worked!" Brett cocked an eyebrow like it was ridiculous to even ask. "But…we should probably go before security's called out. They keep coming faster every time, but…we're faster."

He winked and then started off in a sprint, followed closely by the others.

"See, I told you this was gonna work," Jesse giggled as softly as he could manage as they made their way through the streets, glancing at the only female member of their base.

Alexi smacked his arm. "Yeah right."

Jesse looked at her and blushed from the contact before smirking, forcing himself to place his gaze back on the others. He couldn't help it, really—he'd had a crush on her since the moment he'd been part of the group, and although she probably noticed him staring several times, she'd never confronted him about it. Whether that meant she didn't mind or just didn't care, he didn't know, but he had always sort of hoped she liked him back.

Though of course, with all the others, it was a bit unlikely. In fact, being the youngest, he was used to being the second option. That irritated him: not being able to ever be as good as them. He'd _never _been as good as anyone, not even in his family. He'd had two older brothers, and he had always been subject to competition between them. He'd never felt as worthy of anything as they had, though his parents had reassured him he was overreacting, that he was just seeing things when they treated his brothers better. That had to have happened a lot in families, though, right? He couldn't have been the only one…it just felt like it sometimes.

Anyway, Alexi would never go for him; she was two years older than him, and had never shown any interest in return.

He sighed. He would stay the youngest, the most undeserving of the girl. _Probably forever,_ he guessed.

They all stopped for breath in an alleyway once they'd run a good mile, a distance that was sufficient for Brett to believe they were out of harm's way.

"All right…" Brett wheezed after a few minutes, looking at the group as they either plopped onto the ground or leaned back against the wall of the corridor, worn out.

"How long do you think that'll put 'em out of commission?" Rejection asked.

Brett shrugged. "It's different every time. But I'd say a few weeks, at least."

Frank opened his mouth to say something, stopping as he felt a hand grab his wrist. He jumped, frowning, and then looked at Gerard, who appeared to be staring right through him, dazed and frantically struggling to catch his breath. "What?" the younger snapped, probably a bit louder than he should have, anger from what had happened still coursing through him.

"Frank...I..." Gerard couldn't even finish the sentence before his eyes rolled back and he pitched sideways. Elliot saw and jumped into action, reaching out to catch him just a second before he would've hit the concrete, lowering him the last few inches as gently possible.

Frank kneeled beside him, eyes wide in concern, touching Gerard's cheek and neck and then shaking him without receiving a response.

"What happened?" Craig asked in confusion, and when he got no answer he rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Elliot, help me…"

Frank watched the two lift his boyfriend up and then he glanced at the others, feeling terrible about his fury before, quickly following the others as they set back off towards the basement, assuring to stay in the shadows.

* * *

><p>"I don't know what to do."<p>

Ray looked up at the sudden, miserable moan that came from Mikey as he sat in the back of the soundproof room, watching Ray as he fiddled with the strings of the instruments, tuning and whatnot because, well, they really hadn't anything better to do at the moment. The older put the guitar was holding down upon hearing that, though, frowning and limping over to sit in the chair beside Mikey's, taking his hand, confused. "About...?"

"Gerard." Mikey replied, shaking his head and lowering it to stare at the ground. His hand remained limp in the older's grip, like he had no care to return the affection. "He doesn't talk to me anymore."

Ray sighed, silent for a long moment. "He just needs time..."

"Time from what?" the younger demanded, looking up at Ray in an almost accusing way. "From me? I haven't done anything to him! And he's been fucking avoiding me like I have..." He shuddered and reached his free hand up to rub at his eyes. "Do you understand how much it hurts?" he asked, quieter. "How much _I _hurt because of it?"

"I know it does," Ray said, solemnly, stroking his thumb along the back of Mikey's hand. "You know he loves you. It's just...shit changed after we were there. He just...we _all_ just need time. It hasn't even been a month. It'll get better."

Mikey relaxed a little at that, giving a halfhearted shrug with one shoulder. "Hm," he hummed. "I don't know. I guess. I hope. I just...want him to be able to come to me, you know? For anything, if he needs it. I really can't remember if he's smiled since we got out, and I don't know what's...I don't even think Frank knows what's wrong." He shrugged, pulling his hand out of Ray's and bending over a bit, tangling all ten of his fingers in his hair.

Ray gave a small nod in agreement, and then gave another heavy sigh. "He'll be fine. Frank'll be fine. You'll be fine. I'm already fine," he added, with a slight joking tone, and Mikey looked up, leaning forward and kissing the older.

"I trust you," Mikey murmured once he pulled back, interlinking their hands. "And I really hope you're right."

* * *

><p>"You okay?"<p>

Gerard blinked up at Mikey and then nodded, taking the glass of water he was holding out to him. He was currently sitting on the couch of Ashton's place, having only a blurred recollection of being helped back, only really coming to when Frank had gently kissed him after he'd stirred.

"You scared the shit out of us," Mikey continued as he took a drink, his eyes lowering again, and then he gave a little shrug. "Sorry."

Mikey shook his head. "Don't be. It wasn't your fault. Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah," Gerard smiled a bit, and then denied his younger brother's offer to get him something to eat. Mikey then sat next to him with a sigh and looked at him, almost suspiciously.

Gerard shifted uncomfortably under the gaze. "W-what?"

Mikey snapped out of it and shrugged a bit, suddenly seeming just as awkward. "Nothing. You just...you haven't eaten in a while."

Swallowing hard, Gerard managed a little laugh. "Sure I have. I'm fine, Mikes."

Nodding slowly, Mikey raised his eyes again, but the concern hadn't left his expression. "...Gee, can we talk?" he finally asked, and Gerard stiffened, his eyes going to the floor. He didn't respond, and so Mikey continued. "Uh...you're kind of...you're just..." He paused and took a breath. "You're acting...different. You have been since—"

"Don't."

Mikey frowned at the irritated-sounding command. "What?"

"Where's Frank?" Gerard asked, like he'd never heard anything, and Mikey absentmindedly pointed towards one of the bedrooms, getting to his feet as Gerard did. He wasn't going to allow his brother to walk away again like he had been every other time he'd try to talk. "Gee, I—Gerard, stop!"

"_What?_" Gerard whirled around to face him, his loud voice attracting the attention of the other Killjoys in the living room, and Mikey actually took a step back. "I don't want to talk."

Mikey watched as the older began to walk off, and then caught up, stopping him in the hallway with a hand around his wrist. "Please, I just wanna—"

"Don't touch me!" Gerard exclaimed, jumping away, anger momentarily replaced with the terror from when Bert had stopped him outside the same way, and he shoved the figure behind him back, determined not to let himself be hurt again. Mikey staggered a few steps away, putting his hands up in surrender.

Blinking himself out of the past, Gerard trembled and turned away from the younger. "Just fucking leave me alone," he muttered, and Mikey leaned back against the wall when he had gone, sighing heavily and closing his eyes.

* * *

><p>"I'm really sorry." Gerard said for what must have been the fifteenth time that hour, sitting on the bed in the guest room of the house as Frank worked at the table in the corner, biting his tongue and trying his best to copy the map that'd been ruined. He'd offered to rewrite it for the next time, and the A.P. had seemingly been thrilled, maybe because it was less work for them when they were normally swamped in it. "About…you know. Before."<p>

"It's fine, Gerard." Frank finally replied, slowly, more focused on what he was doing. They'd gotten back two hours ago, and after confirming he could use the room in order to be away from everyone and in silence, Frank had hardly lifted his attention from the map for that entire time, probably because it was something he could do other than think. And Gerard was enjoying the silence; if he could stay here, away from the rest of the world with only Frank, he probably could have stopped feeling how he was.

Or...then again, maybe not. Frank didn't quite seem mad, but Gerard had practically forced the younger Killjoy to keep the incident preventing him from rest a secret—if he wasn't a terrible person for doing such, he didn't know what else could make him so. He was selfish and just fucking _awful, _and the only reason Frank had probably agreed was because he felt bad his health wasn't fully up to par.

_God, that's just what I need. Sympathy. _Gerard thought flatly. He'd do anything to assure none of them felt that for him if he could—he didn't deserve that, nor respect, nor even being acknowledged in existence. He was worthless; it was as plain and as simple as that. Even if they _were _alone, Frank wouldn't want to spend longer than he had to around the older.

"Frank?"

"Hmm…?" The twenty-year-old was completely caught up, and so Gerard softly kicked the ground with his foot. He probably wouldn't hear him anyway… "You don't think...I don't know...that there's something wrong with me, do you?"

Frank raised his head so quickly it felt like he could have broken his neck. "Of course not! Are you crazy?" He looked his love over, trying to determine if the older was finally going to open up to him or if that was still a hopeless prayer. "Why would you even think that?"

"I was just wondering." Gerard murmured awkwardly in response, wrapping his arms around his stomach as a hunger pang shot through it. _Shut up, _he ordered it, like he expected that to help. When was the last time he'd eaten? Three days ago?

He put a finger to his mouth, trying to find words. "Frank?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm…" he trailed off and chewed on his nail, and the twenty-year-old straightened up, tilting his head and coming over to him, taking his free hand and pulling him to his feet. "You're _beautiful, _okay? Don't ever think you're not. And I wouldn't care _what _you looked like anyway; I love you, and I always will."

_Lies. _Gerard ignored all urges to speak, to tell him what he wanted to, and simply smiled. "I love you, too."

Smiling as well now, Frank wrapped his arms around the taller boy's waist and leaned forward to rest his head on his shoulder. "Anything else?"

"...No."

Frank moved away for a moment and stood up on his toes, pressing his lips to the older's.

Tensing and yet not pulling away, Gerard returned the kiss, hoping yet again to feel something, even more dejected when he couldn't. He should have been used to it by now, but...

Frank gripped at Gerard's shirt and then gently pushed him back to sit on the bed, and Gerard flinched. "Stop—"

"What?" Frank asked, surprised, and then stepped back. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking." he murmured, and Gerard stared at him for a moment before his guilt forced him to take the younger's hand and pull him back into another kiss, feeling Frank almost immediately deepen it and wincing, allowing the younger to continue until he broke away and wrapped his arms around him. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Gerard repeated nervously, managing to stay still as the shorter boy kissed him again. He wasn't afraid of Frank hurting him; in fact, the twenty-year-old was the only person he felt he could trust. But he was terrified of any contact of this sort at all when only the night before he'd been taken advantage of—terrified of making Frank feel any dirtier when he at last found out.

But he wouldn't find out. Gerard couldn't tell him; he just...couldn't. He couldn't give Frank any other reason to hate him, like Bert had told him after the entire scene before he'd even been aware Frank was still alive, when the younger had been huddled against the wall, trembling and shocked and more so relieved when he finally realized Bert wasn't going to make him do anything else.

"_I—I'll t-tell them." Gerard's voice was shaking as much as the rest of him was, and though he'd meant to come off as threatening, he knew he was anything but._

"_Tell who, cutie?" Bert scoffed, squatting down and reaching out to stroke Gerard's leg, causing the Killjoy to flinch, moan, and curl up tighter, his stomach lurching again._

"_Your boyfriend? I already told you what'll happen if you do," he continued, sounding like he was slowly losing interest in this entire situation. He probably had, too—he'd spent the past five minutes standing by the opening of the corridor, watching out for anyone and listening to Gerard quietly retching behind him, hoping no one else could hear. "And what would you tell him, anyway? How you let me touch you? How you came for me like the little whore you are, and then sucked me off?"_

_Gerard gave a soft sob and didn't respond._

_Bert reached out then, grabbing the boy by his hair before he could jerk away. He pulled him closer, until their noses were almost touching, looking first at his mouth and then up at his widened, hazel-green eyes. "Don't give him anything else to hate you for. He'll leave you in a heartbeat. 'Course then you'd just come running back to me, wouldn't you?"_

_"Never." Gerard grimaced, but did not fight back as he was kissed for what felt like the hundredth time by him in…how long had he been out here? It didn't matter, of course__—no one would think anything of it when he came back. Bert had already went over what he was going to say to them, that he'd been looking for Frank and been attacked by someone he never saw. And t__he worst part was, because he was being made to say it, and how Bert had helped him back…the others would believe it was the truth. _

_He gave a quiet whine, desperate for the older to stop, though he didn't, his tongue trailing over the mouth that refused him entry, and then finally withdrew, eyeing Gerard as he sucked in a much needed breath and trailed his wrist over his lips in pure abhorrence, fighting the urge to be sick again. Bert didn't seem to care and didn't attempt again, instead standing. "Get up."_

_Overwhelmed by fatigue, Gerard did so with a wince of discomfort, suddenly glaring daggers at the older. _

"_Go ahead, tell them what happened when you get back." Bert's voice took on a childlike quality at the last words, rolling his eyes and giving a chuckle. "You think you're scaring me, but it's _you _who needs to be scared of those thoughts." He looked him over. "Just go along with what I said, or I'll have to hurt you again." He smirked. "Ghoul, too. And the blonde…who's he? Your brother? You really care about him, don't you?"_

_Gerard flinched and shook his head. "I won't."_

_Bert stepped back, smirking, walking out of the corridor and then gesturing for Gerard to follow._

_Hesitantly, the Killjoy did, allowing Bert to put his arm around his waist for "support" and starting to limp like he was in more physical pain than mental, in case any of the others saw. _

_He could have told, but he didn't. He couldn't allow anything to happen to him due to his own foolishness. Whether or not he would have tried to do something about it anyway if he hadn't already been on the verge of completely breaking down, he didn't know. He just knew he couldn't put Frank _or _Mikey in danger like that._

_And if their safety meant living with what had just occurred, then so be it. _

Gerard closed his eyes as Frank gave a soft moan, halfheartedly kissing back, silencing a cry of distress as Frank gently pushed him onto his back and cupped the front of his jeans with a hand. He instead sighed very softly, placing his shaking hands on his love's hips. _Just give in..._

He then frowned as Frank suddenly stopped and pulled back a little, his expression utterly confused. "You don't want this," he said, and he released the older Killjoy instantly, scooting so far away from him he nearly fell off the bed entirely, his arms up like he'd let go of something burning him.

Gerard lifted himself up on an elbow, trembling a bit. "I…if you w—"

"If _I?_" Frank turned his head a bit without looking away from him. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Gerard gave a feeble shrug, his gaze on the blankets, his voice very soft as he said, "It doesn't matter."

Frank scoffed. "Doesn't _matter?_ What the hell is that supposed to mean? It _does _matter." He looked the other over. "What's wrong? Why didn't you tell me you didn't want to?"

Gerard only shook his head, and Frank swallowed uneasily, like his boyfriend's wordlessness was scaring him. "Gerard," he began, eyes widening a bit, "you don't think I would...did you think I'd get mad if you said no?"

The twenty-four-year-old opened his mouth to make an excuse, found nothing to say, and then closed it again, cheeks turning red in shame and embarrassment.

"God, Gerard, no! I wouldn't care if you never wanted to do anything again!" He cautiously reached out, aiming to simply hug him, yet Gerard still recoiled.

"Sorry," Frank whispered, shaking his head. He was such an _idiot! _"I'm sorry, Gerard."

"Can I tell you something?" Gerard suddenly blurted out, surprising both himself and his love, who frowned and nodded. "Anything—what's wrong?"

Everything Gerard wanted to say, everything he knew would only bring Frank down or make him angry—it all refused to come out in words. He stuttered for a moment without making a bit of sense and then fell silent, unsure whether or not that was the better option.

Frank tilted his head a bit and frowned, urging him on with his eyes, and at last Gerard managed, "I don't feel good."

"Then lie d—"

"Ever, Frank," Gerard clarified. "Not anymore."

"What?"

Cringing, Gerard looked away for a moment. Then he reached out and grabbed Frank's hand, getting off the bed and pulling him out of the room, down the hallway, and towards the soundproofed room, quietly pushing him inside and then shutting the door behind them, flicking on the light, feeling it was the only place they could safely speak. Then he turned to Frank, whose back was facing the door, and looked directly at the younger for a few moments—the longest eye-contact Frank had had with him in days—before averting his gaze again.

Frank frowned, noticing how much the older Killjoy looked like he wanted to cry. "...Gerard?"

"I—" Gerard cut off. "Frank, I want..."

Frank looked at him, desperately wishing he would continue, seeing that he was gripping the right sleeve of his jacket, the arm entirely stiffened. Something clicked in his head at that, a reason as to why he was continuously wearing the jacket, to why he grimaced everytime he hit that arm on anything or anyone tried to touch it—

"When you were gone…" Gerard tried again, but could only trail off. He bit his lip in sudden anger as his voice simply wouldn't continue no matter how much he willed it to do so, and then gave a soft sob of frustration, releasing his sleeve and throwing his hands up in an exaggerated shrug, shaking his head. "Never mind, Frank," he whispered, on the verge of tears, and before Frank could stop him, he had walked past him, out the door.

Frank turned in surprise, hearing the bathroom door shut from down the hall, and he almost went after him until his eyes landed on a folded, very crumpled piece of paper on the floor.

He frowned, bending down and grabbing it, unfolding it as gently as he could so it did not rip, and then stood again, confusion spreading throughout him as he read the lines scribbled.

'_Well if you wanted honesty, that's all you had to say...'_

The handwriting got messier and darker as it went along, like the writer had quite literally been pouring out their emotions onto paper, and Frank took a shuddering breath as he looked up, shifting his weight from one leg to the other and then hurrying out of the room, beginning to knock on the door of the bathroom—but stopped as he heard very soft, muffled sobs coming from the other side.

Frank cut off whatever he was about to say as his lips formed his love's name, not allowing a single sound to escape them. How many of the times Gerard went off to hide in the bathroom had he been breaking down like this? Just this once? All of them? Had Frank honestly been blind enough not to have noticed, or heard?

He held the paper a bit tighter between his tattooed fingers, purposely walking into the kitchen, where Dr. D was discussing something with DJ, and interjected with, "Doc?"

Dr. D looked up with a little frown of confusion that was immediate, and Frank wondered if he looked as frantic as he felt, or if his tone had somehow given it away.

"What's wrong?"

"I…" he trailed off a moment, looking off to the side and digging his free hand into his back pocket. "I gotta talk to you." His eyes went to DJ, and he added, "Alone."

Dr. D's frown deepened, but he glanced at DJ, who smiled at both of them and then nodded, going off into the living room.

"What's wrong?" the Doc repeated, and Frank cleared his throat, hesitant to respond at once. He glanced around, but there was no one. The kitchen's wall blocked out a good amount of the sound that came from inside of it, and anyway, the other Killjoys were in the living room, occupying themselves, and Ashton had gone out earlier to work. It was a perfect time to speak, and yet he couldn't find the words. Instead, after a moment, he held out the piece of paper.

The man extended his hand and took it, read it over, and then looked up to see Frank even more uncomfortable, breathing deeply through his nose like he didn't trust himself to open his mouth.

"Did—"

"Gerard wrote it. And he's in the bathroom now, crying. No, fuck that, he's _sobbing._" He scratched the back of his head, splaying dark hair in all directions, pacing to the counter and then back again, at last slumping into one of the kitchen chairs. "I'm really fucking worried about him. I was before, too, but now…" he chuckled without a hint of amusement. "I think he just tried to show me..."

Dr. D looked at him with another frown, at a loss from the words, and Frank couldn't even find the will to say it, pressing his tongue to his bottom lip and holding up an arm.

The man's mouth opened in a silent, "Oh," before he swallowed hard, averting his gaze for a moment in thought and then placing it back on the Killjoy, looking him over in sudden seriousness. "Are you sure?"

"I don't know!" Frank shrugged, leaning his head back to rest on the back of the chair and looking up at the ceiling like it was going to give him the answer. "If you're asking if I saw anything, _no_. I didn't. But he's not…he's not _Gerard _anymore." He picked his head up again and looked at the man solemnly, nausea suddenly making his body feel very weak. "Something…" he swallowed hard and leaned back once more. "Something happened when we were being held in BLI...I don't...it might be why..."

To his relief, Dr. D didn't ask what that had been as the younger trailed off. He instead gave Frank a glance full of so much sympathy, the twenty-year-old was immediately afraid he somehow was already aware of it. But, that was impossible...wasn't it? Even for the man, even for how good a doctor he was, deducing things like a post-apocalyptic Sherlock Holmes with a mere glance, there was just no way in hell he could have any idea of what had happened. He unconsciously scooted the chair back a little with his feet anyway, petrified the man's late response would be something like, 'I know.'

Then the man looked away and shook his head, as if to snap himself out of whatever he'd been thinking of. "There's something else, too."

"What?"

"He's not eating."

Frank opened his mouth like he was going to say something and then frowned and closed it again for a moment. "Earlier? I thought it was 'cause he wasn't feeling…" he trailed off as he suddenly understood was the Doc clearly believed was wrong. "No, he—you think he's doing that on _purpose?_"

Dr. D gestured at him as if to say Frank could figure it out on his own, giving a small shrug.

"No, he wouldn't…he's not…" Frank trailed off, trying to remember the last time he'd seen Gerard eat anything, letting out a loud sigh when he couldn't. And the older fainting after their escape...people didn't do that without a reason, without something causing it. If Gerard hadn't eaten anything in the days leading up to that...

"Ah, shit," he muttered,rubbing at his face. "I'm such a fucking idiot." How could he have overlooked something like that? "How do you know? No, you can't know. Not for sure."

The Doc gave him a look that said he _did, _but Frank shook his head, going back into his state of vain denial. "He wouldn't."

"I hadn't been paying close enough attention to him until after you got back from the broadcast..." The man sounded ashamed of himself, and Frank frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He's tired, he's lost weight, he's always cold—don't tell me you haven't noticed. I can't believe_ I_ didn't until now...that any of us didn't."

Frank shook his head again, but didn't disgree again. Instead, he asked, "How do we know? I mean...how do we find out?"

Dr. D gave a humorless chuckle, his expression remaining utterly serious. "Considering I haven't any idea how much he weighed before, I can't very well find out that way. And I don't have any of my equipment, or—"

"What if we just...ask him?" Frank said, and the Doc gave him such an exasperated look Frank tensed up and looked away. "Okay," he added, "You're the doctor, think of something else if it's such a bad idea!"

The man narrowed his eyes and continued staring, and Frank sighed in frustration, taking that as permission to do so. He turned around, went back to the bathroom, and knocked gently on the door. "Gee?"

For a moment, only silence greeted him, and then there was some movement and a few quiet sniffles. "Yeah?"

"Can you come out really quick?"

"Frank, I don't feel good..."

"I know, but it'll just take a second. Please?"

The twenty-year-old stepped back as Gerard opened the door, keeping his head lowered to hide the tears he wasn't aware Frank knew about. "What?"

Frank took Gerard's wrist and led him into the kitchen, gesturing for the older to sit at the table. Gerard blinked very slowly, his brow furrowing, beginning to realize what was going on—he'd had enough 'talks' with his parents to know the faces someone made when they were suspicious yet unsure how to question about whatever it was, how they made you stay when you wanted to leave. Only Frank was not in charge of him, nor was Dr. D. He could leave anytime he wanted. But something in Frank's expression, a certain desperate concern, made him obey and sit down, asking what was wrong.

"You have to tell us," Frank replied after a moment, and Gerard stiffened. His mouth opened to say something, but Dr. D cut him off before he could, his words blunt. "When was the last time you ate anything?"

Gerard squirmed in discomfort. "Earlier."

"_Truthfully._" the man ordered, looking up. Frank had never heard the tone he was using before—it was both deeply worried and disappointed, almost fatherly.

"That _is _the truth. What the fuck are you trying to do, interrogate me?" He rolled his eyes as neither answered, his agatation growing the longer he was the center of attention. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed. _Goodnight._"

He tried to stand, and Frank, not knowing what else to do, grabbed him and pushed him back down, surprised when the Killjoy didn't fight back, wondering if it was simply because he was too worn out to.

"_Stop_," Gerard whispered, his eyes pleading with Frank's. "Why are you doing this? I didn't do anything!"

Frank looked away, blinking back emotion, and then turned to him again. "Please, Gerard, talk to me."

The older Killjoy lowered his head without responding.

"_Gerard!_" Frank exclaimed, his voice cracking. "What the fuck is wrong? What do you _think_ is wrong?"

Gerard shook his head, crossing his arms and shivering vaguely like he was cold. "Please...just let me...I'm tired..."

"You just asked me if I thought there was something wrong with you," Frank scowled. "Why?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Why do you keep _saying _that?" the twenty-year-old demanded, just as irritated now, unable to stand how helpless he felt, and Gerard unconsciously rubbed his arm, wincing. Frank eyed him, taking the arm as gently as he could. "Are you—?" He was unable to finish the question before Gerard suddenly pushed him away, with such a startling amount of strength that Frank tripped, staggered, and fell, the back of his head hitting the cabinets with a loud _thud_ that must have caught the attention of the other Killjoys, because at once the rest of the apartment was silent.

Gerard blinked as he realized what he'd done, horrified as he watched Frank's mouth open in a silent cry of pain. He stayed where he was for a moment, a bit dazed, and then looked up. "Gee…" he began hoarsely, slowly standing, resisting the urge to rub at the throbbing area that had been hurt _way_ too many fucking times in the last month. "Did you do that to yourself?"

"Do what?" Gerard chuckled humorlessly, gripping at the table.

"Don't fucking play dumb. You know what I'm talking about."

Gerard's eyes closed for a moment.

"Are you hurting yourself?"

"No!" the older Killjoy exploded, glaring at him, venom literally dripping from his words. "You think I'm that fucking pathetic? That I'm that weak? I'm not, Frank! I'm not as fucking weak as you are!"

Frank stared at him, his mouth agape, and Gerard took a shuddering breath. "If you wanna fucking think that, go ahead; I'm _not weak_. I wouldn't."

"Then show me your arm."

Gerard looked at him, almost frightened, and then whimpered, "Leave me alone!" before standing and then pushing past Frank, who didn't try to stop him this time. The younger had his eyes closed, his cheeks glistening with the tears he'd been trying to hold back, and then he blinked. "I love you, Gerard. You're more beautiful than anyone I've ever seen in my entire life."

Gerard half staggered at the words but didn't stop, ignoring the stares he was very aware he was getting and heading towards the bathroom again.

"Gee, are you okay?" he heard Mikey ask, limping to catch up with him before he could disappear again, reaching a hand out to Gerard's shoulder, which the older shoved away. "Leave me alone!"

"What? Gerard, I—"

"I'm not…just, leave me alone…_please_…"

Mikey held his hand up, allowing his older brother to lock himself away again, and then blinked away tears and frowned, going into the kitchen to stare at the two and ask what the living _hell _had just happened.

Gerard curled onto the carpet and grabbed the hood of his jacket, pulling it over his black hair and burying his head in his arms, his own mind spitting insults at him in a repetitive cycle. He bit his lip, almost drawing blood until he was sure he wasn't going to scream at it to stop. What was wrong with—?

No. He was done asking that question. He knew what was wrong with him. _Everything._ And now Frank knew it, and Dr. D knew it, and everyone else knew it thanks to his stupid little outburst he hadn't been able to control. He wasn't Party Poison. He wasn't _Gerard Way. _

He was nothing. Absolutely nothing but an object for Bert to fuck with and it was only a matter of time before the twenty-nine-year-old went and told Frank how the once-great leader of the Killjoys had _enjoyed _what Bert had done, what he'd made Gerard do. He'd probably say Gerard was the one who'd started it, or the only one who'd done anything at all. It hadn't been rape in his eyes, no matter how much Gerard had pleaded for him to stop. And as far as Gerard knew, there was a possibility Frank would see it as his fault, too, and then want nothing more to do with him, and he would be alone—alone and broken and destroyed and numb and just as fucking useless as he had been his entire life.

_Stop. Make it stop. I'll do anything, please…_He shook his head and felt tears unwillingly seep from behind his closed eyes, unsure who or what he was pleading with. _Anything…just make it stop…_

He stiffened suddenly, quietly taking a deep breath to cease crying and raising his head, dazedly glancing at the small, square, blurred glass window at the very top of the shower wall. It would be dark soon. Everyone would go to sleep, and he'd be able to think.

_Not here. _No, he needed somewhere quiet and alone. No one would miss him if he left, anyway. No one would miss him he never came _back_.

If he were to _die,_ even—not a single person would care.

It didn't register that this thought was absolutely nonsensical. The truth never did in a moment of panic, of desperation, and he didn't acknowledge anything about how dangerous the sudden thoughts inundating in his mind were. He simply didn't _care _anymore. He just suddenly knew how to make everything stop—how he could assure he wouldn't be hurt again, that he wouldn't hurt anyone else.

_No. I'm not okay._ he silently replied to his brother, a sense of absolute, calming exhaustion washing over him.

_But I will be. I fucking will be._


	21. Can You Save Yourself Tonight?

**A/N/TRIGGER WARNING: There's attempted suicide in this chapter. **

Chapter Twenty One

Can You Save Yourself Tonight?

_Click._

Frank blinked his eyes open at the noise, frowning and then turning over in irritation, trying to drift back off. It was bad luck, plain and simple. The one night he'd been sleeping peacefully and actually refraining somehow from having nightmares, and he ended up getting yanked out of it by the fucking door closing.

_Wait…_

The twenty-year-old sat up as quickly as he could, getting to his knees and then peering over the top of the couch he had been lying next to, tilting his head slightly at the door before shaking it. He'd probably been hearing things, brought on by lack of sleep. He glanced down as something soft brushed against his hand and then jerked back as he saw two bright green eyes staring up at him.

"Sorry," Bell murmured, giving a little half-smile, swiping her hair out of her face.

"Who left?"

"What? You just woke me up, I don't know anything."

"Sorry." Now it was Frank's turn to nervously grin, falling back a bit to sit and heave a sigh.

"It might've been Bert," she whispered thoughtfully, an emotion he couldn't decipher in her voice.

"Yeah, sure, I guess." Frank shrugged, still feeling distressed. He mulled over lying back down and getting more of his much needed rest, but something in him simply wouldn't allow that. Instead, he stood and glanced around the room, a panic rising in him that the other obviously sensed, propping herself up on her elbows. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know." he replied quietly, his eyes locking with the corner where, last time he checked, his love had been fast asleep. He'd come out of the bathroom only when nearly everyone had already settled down to sleep, and as soon as he'd lay down and gone still, Mikey had gone over and sat beside him. Now, though, the blonde was alone, stretched out on his back, one arm on his chest, the other lying limp beside him.

Frank frowned, confused, and then slowly around the couch and over to the door.

"What're you doing?" Bell almost sounded afraid. "You can't go out, it's, like, two in the morning!"

"I just wanna look." he said, a bit apprehensive, not taking his gaze off the knob as he hesitated for a moment and then grabbed it, starting at how cold the metal was.

"What're you _doing?_" Bell had gotten more desperate, coming over to him.

Frank looked at her finally. "Come with me," he murmured, opening it before she could protest and stepping out, hearing her sigh and then follow, shutting it behind them, crossing her arms over her chest. "God, are you crazy? What's out here?"

"Nothing. I don't know." He stared down the hallway. "He just…wasn't there. I thought maybe—"

"He who? Poison?" She paused as Frank nodded. "He's probably in…"

Frank frowned and glanced back as she trailed off, noticing her narrowed eyes were now focused on something in front of her, and he whirled towards what had her attention, seeing that the door at the top of the single flight of stairs leading to the roof was cracked open.

Feeling the alarm in him mount, he glanced at her, saw a word forming on her lips, and then took off before she could say anything, his feet hardly making any noise at all on the steps. He eased the door open once he'd gotten there and stepped out, hearing nothing at first but the gravel and pebbles crunching under his bare feet, wincing as one of them cut into his heel. Then he looked up as he became aware of another sound, of _crying, _and frantically scanned around for where it was coming from.. He caught Bell's gaze, her eyes wide, and she glanced behind her in a gesture she didn't seem to have the words for. He slowly stepped towards the shed-like structure they'd just come out of, grabbing the side of it and taking a deep breath without peering around it, almost afraid. "...Gee?"

The snivels quieted for a moment, and Frank took a step forward, turning to face his boyfriend, who was completely curled in on himself against the side of the shed, head buried in his knees.

"Gee, what's wrong?" Frank dropped to kneel next to him, reaching out a hand to touch him. Gerard recoiled immediately, somehow managing to make himself smaller, and shook his head.

"Gerard..." Frank murmured, bringing his arm back, his fingers clenching and unclenching, wanting desperately to hold the older and yet unable to. "Baby, please...tell me...why're you up here?"

Gerard raised his head a bit, shifting one of the arms he had clutched between his chest and his legs. "Can't." he finally mumbled.

"Can't what?" Frank attempted to comfort him again, and this time Gerard only flinched, not pulling away from the warm grip suddenly on his shoulder.

"Everything," Gerard whimpered, sounding too much like how he had when they had still lived in Battery; hopeless, confused, and more than anything afraid. His right arm twitched again. "I fucking...go away. Please. Just walk away."

The breath was snatched from Frank's lungs. "Gerard, c'mon, you know I love you, right?" He got no immediate response, and so he added a desperate, "_Right?_"

"You shouldn't. Now _l__eave._"

"Like hell I will," Frank scowled, his hand still firmly on the other's shoulder, gently squeezing because he could think of no other way to let Gerard know he was there when he could not touch him. "I do. Why would you ever think I didn't?"

"I'm not worth it." The older's voice was cracking and hoarse with emotion. He moved again, grimacing and then uncurled a bit, enough Frank could see that the left sleeve of his jacket was pulled up, and the younger didn't have to be a genius to figure out what Gerard was doing—or, _trying _to do. "Gerard—no, what—of course you are! Why the hell would you think you're not?"

"I let you get hurt, Frankie." he whispered, and for the first time he didn't seem to care who heard his next words, as he did not lower his voice. "He fucking _raped _you, and I just…I watched. Helpless, I…"

"No, Gee, please—" Frank said as he trailed off, wincing at Bell's tiny gasp as she stood still, unsure what to do—if she even _could _do anything. Then she slowly got to her knees, a foot or two away from them.

"Please…it wasn't your fault. It was _never _your fault."

The older Killjoy rolled his eyes and mumbled his disagreement as his arm moved again. He drew a sharp breath through clenched teeth and winced again, and Frank actually started to tremble. "Please, Gerard, don't. Don't do anything. Put it down."

"Why should I?" Gerard snapped. "You'll fucking be better off. You all are. I'm _nothing. _You'd probably finally take the bastards down if I was—"

"Don't you dare say that!" Frank exclaimed, and then briefly closed his eyes, collecting himself. "Please. Please don't say that. We wouldn't be better off! You have to know that somewhere. Come on! This isn't you! This...it's not you, Gerard. It hasn't been since they had us."

"What if it is?" Gerard whispered.

"It's _not!_"

"I'm _done,_ Frank. You all want Party Poison, but he's fucking dead. Korse finally killed him back there, just like he wanted."

"Gerard..."

"Exactly! That's all I am now." He hung his head in shame. "I'm the same scared, pathetic little shit I was back in Battery. It doesn't matter. Trust me, Frank, it really doesn't...just...just go..."

Frank shook his head. "I love you. You, Gerard. I don't care if you think I shouldn't, I _do._ Don't make me lose you. I already did once—please don't make me do it again."

Gerard blearily looked up at him, distracted for a moment. "W-what?"

Frank gave a short, almost manic huff of laughter. "I thought I'd lost you in the building, Gerard. Before we got captured. I—" He bit his lip, his eyes watering. "I saw you die. Or at least…I thought I did…and I couldn't do anything. I just had to watch. _Helpless._"

Gerard stiffened at the use of his own words.

The twenty-year-old blinked to clear the tears from his vision, only to have it blur again from new ones, wetting his lips and then continuing. "I didn't know it wasn't a real gun. I didn't…and I couldn't fucking _live _knowing it would be without you, okay? I—I helped Jet and Missile get away…I locked the door behind them and told them to run. I could've gone with them, could've—it might have been different if I had."

He ran a hand under his nose and sniffed. "I didn't, Gerard. I _wouldn't._ I did it for them, but…but it was because of you. It was because if you died, I wanted to die, too." He shivered and moved his hand from Gerard's shoulder to his elbow, pleading him with his eyes and his words. "I can't live without you, Gee. Please. Don't…don't…just _don't_…"

Gerard gave a little moan of complete despair, closing his eyes. He must have been visably questioning this whole thing, because Bell suddenly grabbed Gerard around his shoulders and yanked him towards her, her knee going hard into his back. Gerard yelped, dropping the stained red shard of glass he'd been clutching in shock. Mouth hanging open, Frank only stared as Bell glared at him. "Get the fucking thing, idiot!"

"No!" Gerard tried to break away, but the girl held him with more strength than he could manage to summon. He could only watch with a horrified expression as Frank grabbed his only source of relief and chucked it over the side of the building. "No! You—" His shout got cut off as Bell put her hand over his mouth, wary of how loud they'd been already, glancing off to the nearest visable street.

"Baby..." Frank murmured, looking and sounding absolutely heartbroken, grabbing Gerard's arm and staring at the exposed injuries. Gerard let out a muffled sob and turned his head, and Bell removed her hand to hold both of his shoulders again. "You...fucking...I...no."

"Gerard..." the younger moaned and then wrapped his arms around Gerard, burying his face in the other's jacket. "_Gerard..._I love you...God, I love you so much."

Gerard's arm crept up around him in a half-hug, suddenly exhausted. "'m s...s'ry..."

"Ssh, I know," Frank held him tighter. "I know, it's okay, it's..." He trailed off and frowned as he felt something on his elbow, looking down at Gerard's arm to see the one he seemed to have tried hardest on had started dripping red again. "Fucking hell," he cursed, and then uncurled himself from the other, looking up at Bell. "Help me."

Bell nodded and lifted Gerard up enough she could get to her knees. Gerard grimaced as, with their help, he managed to stand, and then couldn't hold back a cry as Frank pressed his palm against the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding. Frank wrapped his other arm around the twenty-four-year-old's waist. Bell draped one of his arms over her shoulders, and then started forward.

"Sorry."

Frank was startled to hear that word had not come from Gerard this time, but from Bell, whose gaze was on the ground as they stumbled along.

"What?" Frank managed to ask, his eyes unfocused as he glanced over at her, not sure he could handle whatever it was after what had just nearly happened. Bell only bit her lip and shook her head, jerking the door open and leading them inside.

* * *

><p>Skye sighed loudly, breaking the blanket of silence that had been surrounding her for what must have been thirty minutes, shifting in her chair. She, Dr. D, DJ, and Pony had been taking turns watching over Gerard, who was currently dead to the world, to assure that, when he awoke, he didn't try to do anything potentially dangerous. He would still be feeling the effects of something Dr. D had given him after the three had staggered into the apartment and woken the others up—a sort of sedative, to help him sleep, and because the Doc wanted to evaluate him without risk of being prevented—for a while after he did awake, and so him moving much at all wouldn't be likely, but after everything, they couldn't be sure <em>enough<em>.

They were in the guest bedroom of Ashton's apartment, the one that Bert usually stayed in whenever he didn't sleep on the couch, though they'd of course agreed to let them use both the room and the bed after what had happened. Frank was slumped in another chair they'd dragged in, having allowed Mikey to be the one to crawl onto the bed beside his brother, one arm tucked around his chest for warmth and the other stretched out, holding Gerard's hand, more contact than Gerard had allowed him to have since they'd come to the city.

She watched them for a moment. It was as clear as day that they both cared deeply about Gerard, and, eyeing the twenty-four-year-old, she suddenly found herself wondering why on earth he had tried to do what he had. It was evident there was something wrong with how he'd been seeing himself—his jacket and shirt had been removed, the arm Mikey was gripping onto now wrapped tightly in bandages from what Dr. D had been instant to acknowledge he had done to himself. But...this was Party Poison! The same Party Poison who'd bounced back from everything he'd ever had happen to him before.

Clearing her throat, she crossed her arms and looked out the window at the dull light that was beginning to come through the glass, making a soft pattern through the blinds on the gray colored sheets of the bed. Did that mean something more had happened? Of course, none of them had been in the posession of BLI for as long as they had this time, and Gerard had never been for any time at all, but...

She shifted. Something had happened in the last two weeks. Whether it had been when they were held captive, or after that, or some combination of all of it, it had happened to _both _of them, and it had somehow returned them to resembling the scared _kids _they'd found, only just barely clinging to life, in the desert all those years ago. It had taken them weeks to regain their full strength then, and even longer to become what they were now. She could only hope that they would be as resilient.

Frank stirred slightly, making some sound in his throat and then mumbling something. Skye turned her attention to him, noticing he was covered in a thin layer of sweat, only becoming more obvious when he threw his head back a bit and groaned, his neck and forehead shining in the dim light. "Gee,_ don't_…"

Skye shot out of the chair like she'd been electrocuted, by his side in an instant, placing a hand on his shoulder and shaking him as gently as she could until he awoke. He jerked upright and looked around the room in a panic before his wide, frantic eyes landed on Gerard, and he suddenly moaned like he was in pain.

"It's okay," Skye murmured soothingly, reaching out in an attempt to hug him, surprised when he instantly returned it without question, trembling. "It's okay."

Frank gave no reply, and she tenderly reached up to stroke his damp hair. He winced, feeling very childish, and yet didn't protest; it was comforting. Like Gerard's touch was, only in a parent to child way instead of lover to lover. He missed that, and he truly hadn't realized how much until now. His father had never quite been the affectionate kind, even abusive at times—specifically after inadvertently discovering his feelings for Gerard—but his mother had always been supportive of everything he'd ever tried to accomplish. It had been her embrace that felt like this, causing emotions of both grief and guilt to nearly overtake him entirely.

_And I left her. I left her to die just like we left everyone in Battery City to._

He cringed and softly whimpered, shaking his head, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the tears. He couldn't do this! Gerard had come so close to ending his own life—Frank refused to think about himself after that. He could wait. Gerard had to get better, and he had to help him. And for that, he had to continue to discount the sorrow he'd been feeling. He'd been doing it since they'd gotten captured and longer; it wouldn't hurt to hold out a little longer until…

_Until what? _a voice inside him asked. _Are you gonna snap just like him? How long till then?_

He pulled away from Skye, unable to prolong the feelings. It was merely the stress of the entire scenario that had just occurred that caused them to increase; he had done a damn good job of ignoring them so far.

"Thanks," he mumbled awkwardly, and she smiled sweetly. "It'll be okay."

He averted his gaze briefly before looking at her again and forcing a smile as well. "I hope so."

There was an incoherent mumble from behind them, and immediately they stared at Gerard, who twitched his fingers, frowned, and then groaned softly.

"Gee?"

Again murmuring something they couldn't understand, his eyes flickered open slightly, and Frank sat on the bed beside him, gently brushing away strands of dark hair from the older's face. "What, baby?"

"Cold…"

"Oh," Frank murmured, grabbing the comforter around his waist and pulling it up to his neck. "Better?"

"Mm…"

Frowning a bit, the twenty-year-old glanced back at Skye as she stood, looking over the half-conscious boy on the bed for a long few moments, like she was trying to determine if he was actually going to stay awake or not, and then finally turned and said, "I'll be right back."

His attention back on his love, Frank affectionately stroked his cheek, remaining silent because he was completely unsure what he _could _say. Gerard's fingers closed around Mikey's wrist, and he brought his brother's arm to his chest. Mikey immediately stirred, blinking open his eyes, murmuring the older's name.

Closing his eyes again without ever looking at the two directly, Gerard winced, biting his lip but unable to stop tears from beginning to stream down his face, uncertain why he even cared.

Mikey brought the thumb of his free hand to his mouth and chewed on the nail, trying to calm himself before he cried as well. The tears came anyway, and he scooted closer, burying his head in Gerard's shoulder.

"Gee…" the blonde began, shakily, "I…" He trailed off, the overwhelming shock of almost having lost his brother—the only true family he had left—almost proving too much for him. He wanted to ask why, but he didn't. He wanted to express how angry and upset and hurt he was, both that Gerard had tried this and the fact he'd apparently felt he couldn't talk to his own brother, but he couldn't. He instead went quiet, squeezing his eyes shut, protectively holding onto the older with no plans of releasing him anytime soon.

Biting his lip, taking Gerard's other hand, Frank looked back at the door as Dr. D and Skye returned. The Doc rolled his scooter to the side Gerard was on and cleared his throat, eyeing Gerard as he blinked up at him and then shut his eyes again, turning his head against Mikey's hair.

"Gerard—"

"Leave me alone." he mumbled, almost inaudibly, and Frank stroked his hand.

"I can't," the man continued. "You need to talk to me."

The twenty-four-year-old didn't move, but didn't protest, either, and so the man swallowed hard and went on. "What would have made you think you had to do that?"

Humiliated, Gerard remained silent for the longest time, and then released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Hurts."

"You?"

"Everything."

"Someone hurt you."

Gerard was surprised to hear the words were not spoken as a question, but as a confirmation. He blinked his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling. "No."

"I'm trying to help you..."

"Who cares…?" Gerard finally asked, and Skye let out a soft sigh. "We do. We all do."

"You shouldn't..."

"We should, and we do," she said, her tone a clear ending to the argument. "Now what happened? Was it something when you were held at BLI?"

Frank bit his lip when his love flinched, squeezing the hand in his tighter. _It's already happened…they're just words now…you can't change it. You have to tell. Tell them!_

Before he knew it, the beginning of a sentence had tumbled out of his mouth. "When we were there…"

"No!" Gerard said, shaking his hand free from his boyfriend, and Mikey tightened his grip. "You can't…"

Not allowing himself to stop long enough to have thoughts of changing his mind, Frank kept his eyes on his boyfriend and continued. "We were…when we…Korse…he—"

"He fucked us!" Gerard suddenly spat out, and then entire world seemed to collapse onto the shoulders of every person in the room, time standing still. Skye covered her mouth and sat down on the edge of the bed like her legs had given out, Dr. D closed his eyes and lowered his head, and Mikey jerked up into a sitting position. He stared at the two of them, pleading with every fiber in him that he'd misunderstood—heard wrong—anything!

Frank had gone pale, though, his breathing erratic as he stared off at some spot on the ground, and Gerard was trembling like it was ten degrees below zero, which was indefinitely all the confirmation he needed.

"And it was my Goddamn fault." the twenty-four-year-old added after a moment, weakly, and Frank's arms were around him faster than any of the other three could blink, his face pressed against Gerard's damp neck. "No," he was murmuring almost instantly, "No, baby, it wasn't, it wasn't…"

"Please…please, no, you should've let me die!"

Frank held him closer as he tried to pull away, kicking his foot under the bed and hooking it there for support.

"No one wants you dead, sweetie," Skye said, finally finding her voice again, and Gerard shook his head, mumbling something.

"What?"

"I'm worthless!" Gerard said, louder. "I'm so fucking worthless…"

"No, baby, you're not," Frank quietly said into his ear. "You're not. I love you, Mikey loves you—"

"No…"

"You mean everything to me, Gerard," Frank said, and Mikey made a squeak in agreement, his cheeks red, not sure whether he wanted to stalk down to the building himself and kill everyone he saw or cry. He instead opted for reaching out and touching Gerard's shoulder, absolutely horrified and afraid of upsetting him.

"You're still our leader," Dr. D pointed out finally. "We all still look up to you."

Gerard snorted, still never raising his gaze. "Like hell. You're crazy."

"We're not. We should, and we do."

The twenty-four-year-old squeezed Frank's wrist. "I let him..."

"No." Frank said sternly. "You didn't. It's over, Gerard. He won't touch you again, I promise."

The older Killjoy shuddered. "Don't care about me."

"_I _do. I care about you more than you'll ever know. And he won't. Not _either _of us, okay?"

"…'m so tired…"

Frank lifted his head a bit to kiss Gerard's cheek and then dropped it back down to rest in the crook of his neck. "It's okay. Just sleep, baby—you're safe. _We're _safe. I love you."

Gerard's eyelids drooped and then shut completely, and after a moment he feebly lifted a hand to touch Frank's side, feeling his love run a finger along his cheek before he began to drift off.

It was silent for a long minute as Gerard's breathing slowed and evened out, and then Frank closed his eyes as well and wished nothing more than to be away from the room. He couldn't stand everything he was feeling—guilt, shame, embarrassment—it was overwhelming, and he suddenly wondered if that was exactly what Gerard had been feeling this entire time—what _he _would have been feeling himself if he hadn't forced himself to somehow avoid the worst of it. It immediately didn't seem so ridiculous that he'd simply wanted to get away from it all. He'd of course chosen the wrong way to go about that, but he wasn't to blame.

Then, Dr. D heaved a long sigh, shifting in the scooter. "I know it's not gonna help, but…I'm sorry."

Frank numbly shook his head, feeling Mikey shift away from his side, letting out a sudden breath. "I'll…he…are you…?"

Unable to handle any of the questions he knew he was going to start receiving if he stayed, he nuzzled Gerard for a brief moment and then got off of him and the bed completely, stumbling briefly before he quickly went out into the hallway, desperately searching for somewhere he could be alone and pushing open the door to the soundproof room, crying out in despair once he'd shut himself inside.

"Uh—"

Frank whipped around and slammed back against the door in surprise, his wide eyes on the girl standing in front of him, her hands up like he was pointing a weapon at her.

"Sorry," Bell murmured, "I—I was just…leaving."

Almost having the urge to stop her, the desire to be alone gone, Frank didn't move out of the way.

Bell frowned. "Are you okay?"

He averted his gaze without answering, and she winced. "Sorry. _Really _sorry. Stupid question, um—is he...doing okay?"

"No. I mean, for now, I guess. I…I don't know!" Frank shifted uncomfortably and then shook his head, stepping away from the door. "You can go, it doesn't matter."

Bell started forward, though not to the door, and Frank flinched as he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. "Do you want to talk?"

He glanced back at her slightly, his cheeks turning pink as he recalled she had heard what Gerard had said on the roof. "I don't know," he finally mumbled truthfully, and she gave him a little encouraging smile.

Eyeing her for a few moments longer, Frank then sighed and shoved his hands into his pocket, turning to face her completely and leaning against the wall. "I'm just…scared."

"Of…_him?_"

"…Yeah. I mean, no, I…" he closed his eyes and bit his lip. "Yeah. I am. For me and for G—Party. All of us really," he added with a humorless laugh, shrugging. "I mean, fucking look at us. We're _Killjoys,_ and we're still hiding! We're supposed to be taking down BLI; that's why we escaped Battery in the first place!"

"We are," Bell reminded him. "We've already—"

"Taken out a broadcast, yeah, I know. Don't you think we could be doing anything more helpful?"

"The A.P. has plans, and we're part of them. We _are_ being helpful!" She snorted as Frank shook his head. "What else do you want? Sneak into their building and see how it goes from there?

Frank looked at her, and she pointed at him as his eyes flashed with what she mistook for curiosity. "_No_."

"No, no, I wasn't—no. It's just…that's what we did last time, and…" he shifted. "We lost a lot of good people."

"I'm sorry," she sighed softly, crossing her arms. "We're doing as much as we can, okay?"

"I…I know, I guess, it's just…" he shook his head and shrugged like he simply hadn't anything else to say, and then stepped to the side, sitting in one of the chairs, putting the nail of his thumb to his mouth and biting it.

"Do you want me to leave?" Bell asked quietly, and he shrugged again, not looking back, hearing her walk out a moment later. His eyes watered and he didn't even try to fight the tears as they finally overwhelmed him, relieved he was alone and yet anxious at the same time. He suddenly didn't _want _to be by himself. He hadn't since they'd been captured, and had unknowingly been clinging to Gerard whenever he had the chance. His love was the only person that made him feel safe enough to be content, and, now that he thought about it, he was afraid to be without him. And that fear hadn't just started the night before, nor during their capture. Those events had only worsened it.

He'd been fearful of being ripped away from Gerard from the moment they'd first kissed. Every kiss, every night he had slept with him—it had all brought them one step closer to being caught, torn apart. And even after they had been, when Frank's father had prohibited contact of any kind with his love after their return from the Correction Center, he had been afraid. Words were one thing—he always had the option of sneaking out in the middle of the night to meet the older, and they'd done that. But what had frightened him the most—what still _did_—was being split up by their own emotions. It was something they had discussed in several of the meetings at three or earlier in the morning, when they'd simply held onto each other in the shadows, sitting against the side of some building, assuring they were obscured by one thing or another so as to not be caught by anyone who happened to walk or drive by.

Gerard hadn't always been as brave as he was now; nor had Frank. He clearly remembered them sharing their fears over the entire situation they were in, scared to death and unable to do anything about it. They weren't in control, something that was required if they were going to remain together. Gerard's parents had been _thrilled_ of his continued refusal to take the medication, even after the torture BLI had inflicted them with at the center to obey. They didn't take the medication, either. Yet Frank's parents had been far less lenient, specifically his father. The man had taken it upon his duty to make Frank as miserable as possible without even knowing it. He had almost choked his son at one point on accident as he'd tried to force the pills to be taken, striking him when he'd still refused despite his mother's cries, and it was in that moment that Frank had decided he had absolutely nothing to live for but Gerard.

And in fact, that night, the then-seventeen-year-old had shown up beneath his window, chucking pebbles at the glass until Frank had finally heard him and opened it with wide eyes, stepping out onto his balcony and looking down at the beautiful figure, immediately spellbound by the way the moonlight fell across his raven-black hair, causing it to shine even brighter, the shadows creeping and dancing across his face. But it hadn't been a willing visit, as he'd realized a moment later when he'd finally noticed Mikey behind him, clutching Gerard's arm like his life depended on it and visibly shaking.

"_What happened?" fourteen-year-old Frank asked worriedly, horrified at the expression the older gave him. "Frank…they took them."_

"_T-took who?"_

"_Our parents." The reply was hardly a whisper, and Frank leaned against the metal banister, trying to both get closer to them from two stories up and hear him better. "What? When?"_

"_Just then…" Gerard was crying now, stifling the noises, but the tears sparkled like tiny diamonds as they fell down his cheeks. "We ran, Frank. I—I d-don't know if…they're coming for us, too, or—" he cut off and exclaimed as there was a siren in the background, gripping Mikey and pulling him to stand in front of him, desperate for someone to hold onto. He was terrified, more terrified than Frank had ever seen him before. "I don't know…"_

"_God, I'm so sorry," Frank tried to think. He couldn't let them stay there, his father would kill them all! And Gerard knew that; he'd been both witness and victim to what the man was capable of doing, especially to whom he thought had turned his son gay. "Gee, I don't—"_

"_Wh-what happened to your eye?" _

_Frank frowned at the sudden question, gingerly reaching up to touch the dark, swollen skin beneath it. "I got in a fight with my dad."_

"_He hurt you."_

_His frown only increasing, Frank looked him over. "He does it all the fucking time! Why do you look so surprised?"_

_Gerard hesitated, like he was wondering whether or not to speak the words on his tongue. "Run away with us."_

"_What?" Any emotion Frank had been showing vanished into astonishment. _

"_You heard. Run away with us, Frank. With me." _

"_I…"_

"_He won't hurt you anymore. I—I don't know if they're gonna come for us, or for you next, but…if we leave, they can't hurt us."_

_Frank bit his lip, considering the idea. _

"_We'll find where we belong, okay?"_

"_And if we can't?"_

"_We'll make it, anyway. On our own; just you, me, and Mikey." he grinned weakly, trying not to show how much pain he was in. Not all of it was from the bruises and cuts he and his trembling little brother had both acquired from their daring escape from the police not ten minutes before—he was in utter agony, emotionally. This was the moment that everything either started anew or ended. And he just couldn't take that second option; it would kill him._

_A smile tugged at Frank's lips, until he pursed them in a brief kiss and ducked back inside, grabbing the only belonging he cared about—a necklace his grandfather had given him—and then climbed out onto the balcony again, clearing his throat so Gerard would look up at him again. "I want to, Gerard."_

_Gerard staggered slightly like he'd nearly fainted with relief, holding up his hand as if for the younger to take it, and Frank grinned again, grabbing onto the railing and lifting his legs over it to stand on the outside, wary. The first time he'd done this, years ago, to spend the night with Gerard, he'd missed the bush below and landed wrong, fracturing his ankle. And even after he'd healed, he'd still snuck out the same way, and had never had another accident, but he was frightened every time. _

_He took a deep breath finally, murmuring, "I feel like we're in that stupid play, you know?"_

_Able to find just a bit of humor, even after every awful thing that had occurred, Gerard gave a little chuckle. If he didn't laugh, he would cry. And he was the oldest. Crying when others looked up to him simply wasn't something he was ever willing to do. "Then fucking jump, _Juliet!_"_

_Frank winced and then released the metal, landing quietly and thankfully softly in the bush, which Gerard helped him out of instantly, jerking him into a brief kiss and then taking his hand, suddenly looking at him seriously. "You're sure?"_

"_I'm sure I love you," Frank responded. "I'm sure I want to go wherever you do."_

_Gerard held back a sob, and Frank tightened his grip, glancing at Mikey. "Then let's__ go."_

Frank snapped out of the memory, gasping like he'd been incapable of getting air the entire time. That had been the night that allowed him to be where he was at the very moment, and it was almost frightening to remember so vividly.

He stood, unable to stay still, walking over to place his hands on the small windowsill, trying to peer out between the practically microscopic cracks in the blinds, disconsolate when he found he couldn't see anything.

He frowned, suddenly wondering how many other people—how many _children—_in the city may have been off their medications, even just for a moment, peering out of their own windows with the same thoughts, reminiscing of the times they could have freely done whatever they wanted, _loved _whomever they wanted, without a worry of it all being destroyed in the blink of an eye.

_Do we really even have a chance?_

Turning away from the window, his eyes settled on the guitar beside him, and he hesitantly reached out to tug at one of the strings, smiling sadly at the soft sound.

They did have a chance. No matter how small it was, it was still a chance, and a chance worth taking at that. Maybe growing up too fast had been exactly what all of them needed to become who would return everything to normal. It wasn't exactly a comforting thought, but it was enough for his tears to stop, and he sighed, sitting again, staring thoughtfully at the instrument. It was possible that soon, once they'd destroyed BLI, something he was very confident they would accomplish, music could be played again. Of course, no one would be doing it immediately—there would be so much to figure out without the company controlling everyone, but…eventually.

"My Chemical Romance," he mumbled as he remembered what Mikey had titled their false band, running his finger gently along the smooth strings. Maybe they really could become something of a band one day; he'd always wanted to be a guitarist, and that was something he could definitely be excited about becoming sometime in the future.

_The future…the future is bulletproof. _That had been something Brett had told them before.

He smirked suddenly.

_Can't wait to see how fucking bulletproof Korse is._

* * *

><p>Bell, who had been leaning against the door of the room for the longest time, finally shifted, sighing softly and beginning to walk towards the kitchen, deep enough in thought where she did not notice Ashton until he very subtly nudged her shoulder as he passed.<p>

She shook her head then, murmuring, "No."

"What?" the man asked, turning around in confusion.

Bell looked at him for a long while and then averted her gaze, leaning back against the counter and crossing her arms. "We're still…?"

"Nothing's changed."

Lowering her voice to such an inaudible level she was basically only mouthing the words, Bell bent forward slightly and gestured with her hand, glaring at the man. "He just tried to fucking kill himself! How has nothing changed?"

Ashton hardly noticed her, his eyes behind her to assure no one walked in. "Oh, I didn't thank you for making sure he didn't? Good work."

"I don't—" Bell cut herself off and closed her eyes, and Ashton frowned. "What?"

She shook her head, biting her knuckles, and Ashton glared at her, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him. "What were you going to say?"

"…Nothing."

He gave a fake smile and released her. "I thought so."

Bell swallowed hard and went out into the living room, sitting on the edge of the couch and looking out of the cracks in the blinds at the incoming daylight, struggling to disregard the Killjoys. The Killjoys that knew absolutely nothing of what she did.

_What've I gotten myself into…?_


	22. Take Me Back to the Age of Innocence

**A/N: WHOA. SURPRISE. I'M ACTUALLY STILL ALIVE AND WRITING. With many terrible and wonderful things planned. Again, take that as you will. I really hope you guys enjoy this update! And I will try not to take so long with the next one! **

**Chapter title is from the song Hollywood by Death Cab For Cutie.**

Chapter Twenty Two

Take Me Back To The Age Of Innocence

It was barely five minutes after Gerard had finally gotten himself to eat something that Bert's very presence nearly made him choke it back up. Frank saw his boyfriend's face go pale white, eyes fixed behind the shorter Killjoy, and he turned around to face Ashton's friend. Bert gave Frank a snide _what-the-hell-are-you-looking-at? _expression, and Frank frowned. Gerard let out a soft moan, putting an arm around his stomach, and Frank touched his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"'m gonna be sick."

"_What?_ Fuck, Gerard." Frank muttered in disappointment, grabbing his wrist as he stood, following beside him to the bathroom and then shutting the door as Gerard coughed and sat down heavily on the rug, leaning against the bathtub and breathing hard, staring at the toilet as his stomach flipped, ready to lunge forward if his nausea worsened.

Frank placed his back to the mirror, blocking it entirely (something the older was thrilled about) and then slowly rubbed at his face for the longest time until he finally looked up, meeting gazes with the twenty-four-year-old, who's eyes were half-closed in fatigue. "Are you okay?"

Gerard shrugged his uncertainty, relieved that it did seem that his ill feeling had faded considerably.

Bert. That fucking bastard. This was all his fault. If he hadn't opened his Goddamn mouth in the first place, he wouldn't _be _in this position, and he probably wouldn't have...Shakily, he looked up, and murmured, "I want to take a shower," like that was going to get rid of the memory going on in his mind right now.

Frank gave a little shrug. "I can't leave you."

"Then turn around."

Frank blinked, a little confused, and then— "_Oh. _Okay." he said, obeying the request, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck and blushing as he heard Gerard undress and then turn on the shower. Like he really wanted to relive _this _part of their relationship.

Gerard sighed, stepping underneath the stream of water, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry." he finally murmured, and Frank cleared his throat. "Please don't say that. You don't have anything to be sorry about."

_I do…_He winced, shaking his head. "Sorry." He frowned. "I—"

"Shut up," Frank laughed suddenly, and Gerard shyly peered out at him from behind the curtain, looking him over for a long moment. "Frank?"

"Mm-hm?"

"Kiss me." Gerard at once replied, and Frank narrowed his eyes without saying a word, turning to face him, his expression as confused as it would have been had Gerard asked for the meaning to life.

"Please. I want…I want to feel something." He sounded on the verge of tears. "I want to feel _anything_."

"Gee," Frank murmured cautiously, taking a few steps closer, and then before he could make a move for himself, Gerard released the curtain and grabbed his shirt, pulling him until their lips met. Frank draped his arms lightly across his love's shoulders, stepping back in surprise as Gerard jerked away and gasped like he'd been electrocuted.

"What's wrong?"

Gerard gave him a little stunned smile. "Nothing," he said, and truly meant it. He bent forward and kissed him again, reaching out and caressing the other's hair for a long while, quickly lifting his shirt over his head as they broke to breathe. Frank's eyes widened, but he didn't protest, his entire body tingling in longing as Gerard blinked at him and then began slowly messing with his belt, smiling, and it was so thrilling to know he was happy, at least for now, that Frank slid the rest of his clothes off, carefully getting into the shower with him.

Once the water had run cold and they'd gotten out, sitting on the edge of the tub, Frank finally noticed the older no longer looked pleased. Instead, he was staring at the floor, regret filling his voice as he again whispered, "I'm sorry."

Frank hesitantly reached out, relieved the older allowed him to wrap his arms around him without shrinking away. "You didn't do anything."

"No, I…I didn't." The twenty-four-year-old winced and then took a breath, gently pushing Frank away. He had to tell him. He couldn't bear it anymore.

Feeling irritation edging at him, Frank frowned. He'd thought his love was getting _better, _not remaining how he'd been! "Gerard, come on! You—"

"N-not Korse."

Frank squeezed him gently. "Who?"

Gerard averted his gaze, his mouth open but at a loss for what to say.

"Gee, please. Tell me. I want to help."

The older pressed his lips together in the beginning of a reply, and Frank stiffened, piecing everything together before the other could go on. "Bert?" He paused as Gerard flinched. "Did he hurt you?"

"Please, I'm…I didn't want to…"

"What did he do?"

"I can't…"

"What? Gerard, stop it! Just…tell me what he did."

With a voice so quiet it was hardly audible, Gerard briefly explained in a few, vague words, stuttering to a halt at the end. Frank was _furious, _and he could only believe it was towards him. "I'm sorry, I-"

"No, I'm not…I just…why didn't you tell me before?"

"B-because he'll…"

Frank shook his head before he could continue, scowling and releasing him to grab his clothes. Gerard blushed furiously and reached out for a towel to cover himself the moment the comforting heat of the other's body left his side. "Y-you can't tell anyone!" he said. "Frankie, please—where're you going?"

The moment he was dressed, Frank slipped out of the room without a word, despite knowing it was leaving his love alone, far too irate to think much about it as he walked into the living room. He glared at Ashton, about to ask where Bert was, and then saw the twenty-nine-year-old by the door, like he was on his way out. "Hey!" he shouted angrily, uncaringly gaining everyone's attention.

Bert turned around, frowning. "What do you—ooh!" He cut off with a cry of pain as Frank's fist connected with his face, falling back against the door and sliding to the tile in shock.

"You fucking piece of shit," Frank hissed, raising his arm again, only to have it grabbed and wrenched behind his back. "Fuck you! I can't fucking _believe _you—"

"Ghoul! Stop it—what the hell is wrong with you?"

He disregarded Ray's voice, continuing to fight to free himself as another grasped him and began trying to drag him away. "He—" He looked to Bert again, who hadn't moved an inch, blood trickling through his fingers now as he held his nose. "I'll kill you!"

"…The hell did I do?" Bert moaned, and Frank cursed, the fact that he was pretending to be innocent nearly as horrible as what he'd done, lashing out with his foot in an attempt to kick him before he was lifted completely up and hauled back, where Ashton tossed him down almost carelessly onto the couch. "Hey! Knock it off!"

"Goddamn it!" Frank mumbled breathlessly, aware of nothing except how angry he was, even trying to get up again until Ray grabbed his shoulders from behind and jerked him back, and he finally looked up.

"What the fuck was that about?" Ashton demanded, and Frank only glared. "Why'd you hit him?"

Frank glanced at all of them before lowering his gaze, unable to bring himself to give the reason and so refusing to answer at all. Ashton didn't seem to notice, leaning forward. "What the _hell _is your problem?"

Frank scowled and then looked straight past him, to Dr. D, who was frowning at him in disappointment. "I need to talk to you."

Dr. D's frown deepened, but he said nothing, and Frank shrugged to get Ray to release him. "Let go!" he ordered, and the older hesitantly did, stepping in front of where Bert was sitting as Skye bent beside him and offered tissues.

Frank stormed into the hallway, Dr. D following, and then stopped dead as he saw Gerard, leaning against the wall and looking downright terrified. "W-what'd you…?"

Grabbing his hand, Frank pulled him into the bedroom, waiting until Dr. D had gotten in before he shut the door and locked it.

"What happened?" Dr. D asked, and Gerard sat on the bed, trembling. "No…Frank, what'd you _do?_"

"Tell him what you told me." Frank said, and Gerard shook his head _no, _spraying water droplets everywhere. Frank only repeated himself, and after a moment Gerard finally looked up. "I…I can't—" he choked, grabbing Frank's wrist as he opened his mouth like he was going to say it for him. "Don't! He'll—"

"He'll _what?_"

Miserably shaking his head again, Gerard softly moaned, "Please…"

"What happened?" Dr. D said again, though his tone was no longer upset, instead deeply concerned. "Did he do something?"

"He…hurt…me." Gerard managed through clenched teeth. "And…he'll do it again…if you tell anyone."

Frank recoiled a little as the older took his hands, gaining coherency. "He'll hurt you. Please…what'd you do?"

Again enraged from the mere fear that was evident on the beautiful face before him, Frank scoffed unapologetically. "I fucking decked him."

"He hurt you; what does that mean?" Dr. D asked seriously. "What did he do?"

With an ashamed glance at both him and his boyfriend, Gerard lowered his head. If he did tell, and Ashton found out, he would make Bert leave and never come back, right? His threats had been nothing—he couldn't carry _shit _out if he wasn't even around...right?

Taking another deep breath, Gerard finally spoke, something they may have been confidence buried in his tone despite the words that made him want to vomit.

Dr. D exhaled sharply, quiet for the longest time. "I have to tell Ashton."

"Just…please…not in front of him. I don't know…I don't want him doing anything."

Dr. D nodded, taking all this a bit too calmly, or else was simply too much in shock to show emotion. That wasn't too far-fetched; after all, it had only been days before they'd admitted Korse had abused the both of them, and while he had suspected it before...it had been an entirely different kind of shock to have it confirmed. He heaved another breath and bent forward slightly, putting his hand to his mouth for a moment in thought, and then looked at Frank. "He didn't touch you?"

"No." the twenty-year-old shook his head. "I wish he'd've tried it on me instead, though. He wouldn't've been able to walk."

"Stop," Gerard suddenly muttered. "You wouldn't have."

"Wouldn't have _what?_" Frank looked like he wanted to laugh. "Fought back? I—"

"Don't think I fucking didn't, Frank," he spat back. "I didn't _want _it to happen. He just…" he trailed off and placed his hands over his face, muffling his next words. "He was stronger than me, and every time I tried to fight he just hit me until I stopped. And it _hurt, _Frank—don't fucking pretend like you wouldn't have wanted to stop, too. Not if you were trying to make him _let go _and he—he just wouldn't, and—I couldn't yell, and—"

Frank couldn't move for a long moment, even as he realized Gerard had begun to cry, and then the moment he reached out to comfort his love, the older jerked away from his reach and crawled further back onto the bed, burying his face in the pillows, shuddering in his efforts to remain silent. It hurt to see him break down again after seeing the progress he'd made over the past few days, and Frank swallowed his urge to try and comfort him again—as he clearly didn't want it—and instead turned to Dr. D, who was focused on the ground, probably contemplating how exactly he was going to explain to Ashton what had happened, how he was even going to _repeat _what had happened. He glanced up at last and cleared his throat, looking almost like he wanted to ask for advice, and then turned his scooter back towards the door.

Reaching out to open it for him, Frank was tempted to follow him, but as he peered out into the living room after him he saw the twenty-nine-year-old lying on the couch, a wad of bright red tissues pressed to his nose, and he let out a satisfied grunt before walking back into the room and shutting the door behind him.

Gerard had quieted, on his side now but still facing away from him. Frank crossed his arms and awkwardly shifted his weight.

Finally, Gerard spoke up. "Sorry."

Frank sat on the edge of the bed and sighed. "Don't be."

The older mumbled something incoherent in reply and vaguely shook his head. Frank looked him over. "Please don't…" he trailed off.

"What?" When there was no answer, Gerard repeated it, louder.

"I just…I don't want you to—"

"Hurt myself?" he interrupted coldly, and Frank squirmed uncomfortably. "Yeah. That."

Gerard took a deep breath, hesitating before talking again. "I...I won't."

Seeming relieved, Frank leaned back a little and then lay down completely on his side, propping himself up with an elbow, watching the other breathe.

"I didn't like it." Gerard said at length. "You can hate me if you want, but I didn't want him to do what he did."

Frank frowned. "Hate you? Why the hell would I hate you?"

Finally rolling over to face the younger, Gerard bit his lip, never raising his gaze from the sheets. "'Cause I didn't fight back. I mean, I did…but I stopped. All because I couldn't handle a few punches."

Frank noticed another few tears find their way down his cheeks.

"You'd think I'd be used that kind of shit by now…And anyway, I'm supposed to be…some kind'a leader, to be looked up to."

"You are. You always have been!" Frank protested.

"I thought so, too. But I'm not. I'm pathetic, I'm weak, and I'm fucking _afraid, _Frank." He let out a humorless chuckle. "I'm afraid of BLI, I'm afraid of Korse, I'm afraid of Bert—I'm afraid of myself." He blinked more tears out of his eyes. "I'm afraid to let everyone down again."

"You never let anyone down," Frank tried, scooting a little closer.

"You. Missile Kid. And the girl Korse made me kill; her brother and sister, too. Almost the entire A.P., when we were with them before. I almost failed…I would've ruined everything—gotten some of them captured, even."

"But you didn't!" Frank slowly reached out to take his hand. "Everything then went perfect, and when you're better, maybe we can—"

"What is 'better', Frank?"

The younger paused. "When you're eating again…when you're not like this anymore."

"Like this?"

"Sad." the younger immediately responded, and Gerard closed his eyes. "Maybe that's how I am now. Maybe it'll never change." He shrugged. "I haven't felt anything since we were rescued. Except before and…" he shuddered. "And with what happened with...with Bert."

Frank looked at him funny. "Like…bad?"

The older shook his hand free and tucked it to his chest. "When I did it to him, yeah."

Frank shifted, probably just as uncomfortable as Gerard was, and held his tongue. As if having read his mind, without even _glancing _at him, Gerard murmured, "_Yes, _Frank. I guess I...I liked it. Just like a little whore."

"Don't call yourself that."

"Why not? It's what he called me, and it's damn true."

Scowling, Frank glared at him unintentionally. "Stop. You're not anything like that."

"Okay," Gerard spat, "because you don't want to believe it? You don't want to believe I liked someone else other than you touching me?"

"Because you're fucking not!" Frank sat up, jarring the whole bed. "Are you really going to believe that because he told you? Are you gonna believe _everything _he called you?"

"Korse, too. Because it's all true. Shit, you have no idea how Goddamn true all of it is…" Gerard winced and swallowed the sob that tried to escape his throat.

"Gee," Frank whispered, "baby, it's not. None of it. Not one word. Are you listening?"

Gerard at last made eye-contact with him as his voice went loud and harsh, startled. Frank moved until he was sitting in front of him, taking his hand and muttering an order for him to sit up.

Gerard obeyed, his eyes a bit wide, and Frank touched his knees to the older's, holding both of his hands in his own between them.

"You're not a whore, you're not worthless, you're not nothing, and you haven't failed anyone." He saw Gerard begin to speak, and he reached out, pressing two fingers to his lips before he could. "No. Listen. You're Party fucking Poison, okay? You're our leader, our friend, and we all love you. We're worried about you, and we want you to be better already! You're _my _boyfriend, no one else's. Rape doesn't count, Gerard. You hear me? You're worth everything_, _and you mean even more than that—to me and all of the others. You've fought harder than anyone I know would have. You let them hurt you instead of giving up where anyone was for fucking _days_—no one else I know would have tried that hard. Everyone looks up to you, Gerard. Then, now, and way after you're gone." He slowly ran his fingers down and off Gerard's lips. "I love you, Gerard. More than anyone and anything. You're my fucking everything, and I need you to get better! I miss you...I miss you laughing, I miss your smile—I need you to be yourself again!"

Gerard blinked, thoroughly thunderstruck.

"I miss you, Gee." Frank quietly repeated, and Gerard finally reacted. He squeezed Frank's hand, leaned forward, and kissed him, closing his eyes, completely and willingly allowing himself to enjoy it, aware of the happiness he vaguely felt that grew stronger as they continued.

They went no further, but even as they finally broke apart for more than a few seconds, what seemed like hours later, neither pulled too far away. Frank settled next to him, resting his head on his chest as Gerard gently trailed his fingers over his body, only now realizing how much he had missed just holding him, being near him.

"I love you," he murmured shakily, and Frank nuzzled him. "I love you, too."

Frank didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he woke up, Gerard's arms wrapped loosely around him. He smiled vaguely, watched him sleep for a little, and then at last slipped away to return to the map he had promised he'd finish, grabbing the pencil and then squinting at the destroyed version, drawing a few more lines and then sitting back, rubbing at his face. Looking anywhere but where he should have been, he ended up glancing the slightly crumpled pieces of paper at the edge of the desk, the ones Gerard had put there and asked Frank not to touch. It wasn't that he wanted to go back on a promise, but it was a distraction, and he was still curious. He'd been curious since he'd caught Gerard staring at him while writing the night before, like was trying to figure something out, shaking his head when Frank had questioned about it.

With a sigh and a fleeting glimpse back at Gerard's still body, Frank hesitantly reached out and took the top paper between his fingers, bringing it close enough he could read the print.

_"I hope you're ready for a firefight, 'cause the devil's got your number tonight…"_

Frank made an odd sound in his throat as he read through the lyrics, recognizing things he'd said, clear references to things that had occurred back in Battery (including a very failed attempt to steal Frank's parents' vehicle) and, above all, how absolutely hopeful it sounded.

Maybe Gerard was getting better faster than he'd thought. In fact, maybe he was _already _better than he'd thought. That was all he truly cared about right now, even more than getting the world back to how it had been. He couldn't do it without Gerard, and maybe, at this rate, he wouldn't have to. With a long sigh, he stood and went into the hall, pausing a moment to further blink lingering sleep from his eyes, and then started towards the kitchen, in desperate need of a drink. He paused again when he heard Ashton having a soft conversation with someone unseen, frowning, and then leaned closer to the room. Then, in response to whatever the man had said, he heard the voice of—_Bert?_

_What the fuck is he still doing here? _Frank scowled, clenching his fists and ready to finish beating the shit out of the twenty-nine-year-old, but stopped as their words finally registered in his ears.

"Keep your voice down, idiot," Ashton hissed. "Last thing I need is one of them hearing us."

"Then fucking turn them in already!" Bert replied, sounding impatient, and Frank felt his heart stop.

"I am. Later this morning." There was a soft clinking sound, and then Bert gave a little huff of laughter.

"And," Ashton continued, even quieter, "when we find out where the A.P. hides out—at least, _some _of them—we can get them, too. One of their houses goes down, I'm pretty sure they won't have the guts to try anything else for a while. At least until we can get the information on where those are."

"You think he'll tell you?"

"Not me. I believe that's Mr. Adams job."

"He knows?"

"I've already alerted them all about it. We're taking him, and then whatever they need to do, I'm sure they will."

Petrified, Frank struggled to steady his breathing. They were _working _for BLI? And _him, _who was that? Gerard? No, he wouldn't let them! He would wake him up, wake them all up—he wouldn't let this happen again! He stepped back, ready to turn around and wake the Killjoys in the living room, and then stiffened as he bumped into the bookshelf beside the wall. It scratched against the wall, knocking a book down from the top shelf. He caught it at the last moment, fumbling to put it back and leave, and—

"Did you need something?"

_Shit! _Frank turned back to see Ashton looking at him in confusion, a hand casually resting on the wall.

"Uh—I, uh—no," Frank stammered, moving away slowly. "No, I didn't, I—um…I couldn't sleep…"

"Aw, poor baby," Bert murmured, appearing beside Ashton, and without a moment's hesitation, he reached out and grabbed Frank's arm. He clamped a hand over the younger's mouth as he drew a breath to scream and held his nose at the same time so he could make no sound at all, wrapping his other arm around the twenty-year-old's waist and dragging him into the kitchen.

Ashton eyed them both Bert leaned against the counter and then grabbed Frank's chin, forcing him to look up, a chilling smirk on his lips. "You have great timing, you know that?" he said quietly. "We were gonna wait till later, but…"

He then turned around and grabbed the little vile that was sitting on the table, making the same _clink _Frank had heard before, and reached past them to grab a paper towel, folding it nonchalantly and holding it to the bottle and shaking it.

Bert felt the Killjoy shudder and go limp, his lips moving wordlessly against his palm as he tried to breathe, and he glanced at Ashton, who simply watched them for a moment, the smile never leaving. Then he stepped towards them, nodding ever-so-slightly, and Bert released him. Frank hardly had time to grab a half a breath before Ashton pressed the towel in place of Bert's hand, struggling and yet unable to break free as Bert held both of his arms behind him. He gave a muffled cry, causing Ashton to apply more pressure, and then his eyes lit up as Bell suddenly appeared behind him, her arms crossed tightly, obviously discontented. _Help me! _he pleaded silently, and yet the girl didn't move. In fact, she averted her gaze from him completely after a moment, like she was trying to ignore the entire scenario taking place before her.

His spirits dropped through the floor.

_No…not you too…_

"Damn it," Bert hissed impatiently next to his ear, and then brought his knee up into the younger's back. The Killjoy gasped and then moaned, twisting in order to get away from whatever was on the towel, but after a moment he stopped moving, wincing.

"Tired now, little Killjoy?" Ashton taunted, but Frank hardly heard it. He mumbled for help, far too quietly for anyone but them to hear, his senses reeling and then fading into a blur until he knew nothing more, slumping forward in Bert's grasp.

His smirk having vanished, Ashton stepped back. He looked up at Bert and then faced the table again, capping the small bottle and sliding it into his pocket along with the towel. Then, he crossed his arms and turned again, leaning against the table and staring at the Killjoy.

"What?" Bert grunted softly, shifting the deadweight in his arms.

"Nothing," the man hissed back, reaching out to yank the twenty-year-old from him, putting an arm around his waist to hold him in front of him, and then glared at Bell. "Just stick to the plan. It's all just a little earlier."

Bell swallowed hard and slowly nodded as he went off towards the door, wincing as Bert put a finger under her chin, smirking, looking her over suggestively. "Careful, sweetheart," he murmured, placing his other hand on her hip, an action she flinched at yet did not protest. "I saw how you wanted to help him." He leaned close to her, kissing her cheek and whispering into her ear. "Remember why we took them in. It wasn't to make friends."

He pulled away and released her, watching in amusement as she wiped the sleeve of her jacket across her cheek in disgust, and then he followed Ashton out the door, eyeing the Killjoys still sleeping before quietly clicking it shut.

Bell slumped into one of the chairs as she was hit with a pang of guilt, resting her head on her arms. The boy who'd trusted her, who'd she'd seen save his boyfriend and done everything he could to make him better since…she'd just allowed him to be kidnapped, directly in front of her. How could she _not _feel awful?

It wasn't like she wouldn't have helped him—she'd honestly grown to trust him, to no longer believe what she had been ordered to go along with from the beginning was right—but she was afraid. Afraid of not getting what had been promised if she went along with what she had been told to do; what _Elise _had been promised. She was really doing it for the twelve-year-old, anyway—everything about how they had met that they had told the Killjoys was true. She truly did see the girl as her sister, and to be honest would do anything for her well being.

And unfortunately, everything she was doing now fell under that category of 'anything'.

She hated it, of course. She'd come to not only develop an aggravatingly big affection for Ray, but had also gained respect for the lot of them. She fucking _despised _BLI, but they had Elise's parents, and until this was all over with, until all the Killjoys and A.P. members were dead, they would remain locked up and away from her, tortured and whatever else they wanted to do to them.

Now, though…now she wasn't so sure about any of it. Obviously she wanted Elise to be with her fathers again, and she was still willing to assure that happened, but…there had to be some other way, right? One that didn't include allowing the others to be killed off, one by one?

She hung her head, ashamed. She was in this for the long run, now. She could've stopped them just then, but she hadn't. She could've refused from the very beginning, during the day all of this had been planned out, right down to the twenty-year-old being kidnapped, but she hadn't. And as she thought about it further, she realized she wouldn't.

_It's us or them, _she told herself. _Elise and I, or the Killjoys and A.P. They have no family. They have no one left. No one is going to miss them if they die. _

"Oh, God…" she mumbled under her breath, dropping her head onto the table at the selfish, awful words. She really was turning into one of the heartless, emotionless agents that worked for BLI.

And the worst part was that she almost didn't care enough to truly want to change it.

* * *

><p>"State your name and business."<p>

"Ashton Marks," the man said into the speaker connected to the wall next to the BLI building's gate. "And I was ordered to bring something here."

The speaker crackled with static, and then; "State your business."

Ashton clicked his tongue. "Just let me talk to K—"

He cut off as the gate rattled and then began to slide to the side, and he eyed the camera above him, cocking an eyebrow and then driving on through. He parked to the side of the place, got out, jerked open the back door, and smirked down at the Killjoy lying across the seat,dazed, wild-eyed, and, most importantly, helpless. He'd made sure of that. The twenty-year-old was handcuffed, his ankles restrained with as many as ten zip ties, and his mouth was taped shut, something Ashton had done solely because as soon as Frank had regained consciousness halfway through the ride here, he'd done nothing but spit vile curses at the man and kick the seat, insulting and threatening him in any way he possibly could, prompting Ashton to pull over and put an end to the irritation.

"Headache?" he murmured tauntingly as the boy winced in the bright lights that made it seem like it was daylight solely in the lot, and then grabbed him by the back of his shirt, dragging him out of the car and to his feet, frowning when he immediately fell to his knees. "Right."

Frank gave a muffled shriek of detest as Ashton grabbed him around his waist and lifted him over his shoulder, kicking the car door shut and turning towards the building. "I swear to God, Killjoy, if you don't shut the _fuck _up…"

Frank continued to protest desperately as the man reached out to the door of the place, and Ashton scowled, releasing his hold on him entirely and rolling his eyes as the Killjoy instantly ceased moving, crying out when even that didn't stop him from sliding off the man's shoulder, hitting the concrete with a grunt.

"Will you stop fucking _fighting _now?" Ashton demanded after a moment of getting the door open, turning back to the boy, who looked up at him with a wince, his eyes giving him the determined message of _absolutely not!_

"Do you really wanna go through this again?"

Frank only glared at him, watching as he reached into his pocket and held out the towel he'd used before, and then the younger flinched, averting his gaze and mumbling. If he could just—

_Just what? _he asked himself suddenly, and to be honest, he knew he didn't have an answer. He was completely bound; lashing out would only anger the man, and if he were to knock him out again, he'd be even more helpless than he was now. No, he had to think something through—something that would actually work, not just a spur of the moment plan he _hoped _would work, which was practically what they had always survived on.

He glanced up at the man he'd once called a friend and shook his head once. Ashton shoved the towel back in his pocket, grumbling curses under his breath and reaching down to haul Frank up again, purposely smacking his head against the frame of the door on the way through it and smirking a bit when he groaned. "Fuckin' brat."

He climbed up three flights of stairs and then finally into another hallway, at last pausing in front of one of the doors and pushing it open and then grabbing Frank and holding him on his feet. "You asked me to bring something?"

"Oh, Frankie!"

With a violent flinch, Frank managed at last to raise his head, blinking at the man standing before him, scowling to mask the sudden fear he felt.

"Hello again," Korse smirked, his eyes as cold as ever and yet extremely amused. "What a pleasant surprise."


	23. The End is Knocking

**A/N: SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT I'M SORRY FUCK hello how are you all doing I hope you're well it's been a while HERE**

**Chapter title is from the song Lost by Avenged Sevenfold. **

Chapter Twenty-Five

The End Is Knocking

"We weren't expecting you until later, Frankie."

Frank didn't move, refusing to raise his eyes to see the man in front of him. He was currently sitting in a chair in the middle of the office room Ashton had dragged him into, a slow, fucking _annoying_ line of blood tricking down his left temple from his collision with the door frame downstairs. If he couldn't struggle, then he could at least protest what was happening by ignoring it altogether. Unlike last time, he would keep a strong hold on his dignity, especially in the face of the man who had stolen most of it.

"Look at me."

Still nothing.

Korse stepped up to the chair and grabbed the Killjoy's hair, yanking his head up. "I thought you would've learned by now, boy—you do what I said."

Frank would have loved to kill the man where he stood, shouting several curses at him through the gag and rattling the metal around his wrists. Korse chuckled, and Frank's entire being quivered at the sound. Korse turned to Ashton, who had been leaning quietly against the wall in the corner, his arms crossed, watching them intently. "None of them saw you, correct?"

"Of course not." The response was short and quiet but very certain, and Korse nodded in satisfaction before turning back to the boy, who glared daggers, neither of their gazes wavering until Korse nodded and looked back at Ashton. "Good," he said.

There were a few whispers Frank couldn't make out, a pause, and then Korse returned his attention to Frank, sauntering over and grabbing the boy's arm. "You're of no use to us tonight."

The Killjoy writhed at the Exterminator's touch as if he were being burned with acid, disgusted at his knowing chuckle and even more so when he purposely brushed his hand against the front of Frank's jeans as he lifted him over his shoulder, ignoring the continuous, incoherent curses he received the entire five minutes it took to walk through an uncountable number of halls and up stairways until at last he stopped.

He lowered Frank to his feet and left him helplessly standing as he was, struggling not to fall, as he reached into his pocket and took out a penknife, reaching down and cutting the ties around his ankles before seizing him by the back of his neck and forcing him forward again, never speaking a word.

Finally, as they came to the end of the long hallway, Korse opened the door and led him onto the roof of the building, glancing at him with a smirk as he staggered in a failed attempt to stop, looking around in frightened awe. Not ten yards ahead of them, against the parapet, was a small, fenced in area, about six feet in height and at least three times that in length. The back of it was made of the wall, and it was enclosed by the thick barrier on all sides.

Frank mumbled a snide comment he wished could've been heard as Korse led him to the door of it, shoving a key into the lock and yanking it open, turning to the twenty-year-old and grabbing him by his shirt, shaking him a bit. "Don't think for a minute you're going to be as forgotten as you were last time. You had your unfortunate chance to never cross us again."

He released the Killjoy, pushing him roughly into the cage, giving a smirk as Frank grunted in pain, unable to catch himself, and then sealed him inside.

Frank remained silent and still until he was sure Korse was gone, and then groaned, writhing to get out of the agonizing position he'd fallen in, rolling onto his side and bringing a knee up, desperately trying to rub the tape off his mouth. It was the only thing he could think of doing, and to his relief, after a moment of struggling, the gag peeled off. He winced, licked his lips, and then shuddered at the taste, spitting before managing to get to his feet, going over to the fencing. "Mother_fucker!_" he shouted angrily, and then bent over as he accomplished nothing but increasing the pounding in his head. He retched weakly for a moment before staggering over to the wall, sliding to the ground, his head lowered, tears burning his eyes.

_No, _he ordered himself. He wasn't going to cry. He just _wasn't _going to give them that satisfaction, not Korse, not BLI, and certainly not the Bell, Bert, or Ashton, the ones who'd just betrayed them entirely. Them and…God, was _Elise _in on this, too? She was twelve! It should've been more surprising than it was, but instead it was simply heartbreaking. How close she resembled Missile Kid, with both her personality and appearance, and then finding out she had been working for BLI the whole time…

He squeezed his eyes shut. The others didn't even know was Ashton going to do to them? And Gerard—God, he was _better, _but…he'd tried to kill himself not two weeks ago! If Bert tried anything on him again, because Frank wasn't there to help him, and none of the others knew he was back…

The mere thought of Gerard being hurt again, combined with the fear of being hurt again _himself, _made him whimper, losing the battle he'd been fighting, tears beginning to fall down his cheeks. He tucked his knees up to his chest and huddled sideways against the wall, shaking with silent sobs.

If he had to cry, he was at least going to make sure it wasn't heard by anyone else.

* * *

><p><em>God, what am I doing?<em>

Bell had been asking herself that very question all morning, ever since what she'd allowed to happen, never moving from the table. She felt _guilty_. After everything she'd done, probably somewhere in the 'To Blame' list leading to Gerard's suicide attempt, having been betraying them from the goddamn _minute _she'd met them, _now _was the time she felt bad for it? It seemed too ridiculous for words. She had to remember, this had been planned from the very beginning—she couldn't back down now. She had to just go through with it. For Elise's sake.

She looked over to the couch, to where Gerard hadn't moved since he'd awoke, his knees tucked up to his chest, casting glance after glance at the door like he expected that to make Frank's impossible homecoming happen faster. He was suspicious—he had been since Ashton had explained to them all the story of how Frank had gone to see the A.P. Ashton had not fumbled or stuttered even once, and Bell wasn't completely sure he suspected what was actually going on, but he had a glimmer of doubtful worry in his eyes.

Of course, it was very possible he was simply concerned the trip was taking so long. And it didn't matter either way—come this afternoon, they'd all be aware of their betrayal and in the hands of BLI.

Gerard blinked at her then, setting another shot of guilt through her, and she turned away.

She couldn't have known he'd given his word to Gerard every night since his attempt that he would be there in the morning, that he wouldn't leave him, even before if Dr. D had given the orders that he was not to be left alone.

And _he _couldn't have known what was actually going on—that Frank was in danger again and not on a morning mission with the rebels. That, as he sat, he could've been planning a rescue, trying to get the others out of there; anything, really.

He straightened up expectantly when the door opened, sinking back into the cushions when only Ashton entered, nodding at him and the others. "Ghoul back yet?"

"No." Rainbow sighed softly, fiddling with her hands, and Ashton shrugged, walking into the kitchen, noticing Bell and how pale she was.

_Not a word, _he mouthed in warning, and she gave a nod and looked away. A few more hours, she reminded herself. Then she could get it all over with, get Elise's parents back, and move on with life.

_Knowing I just sent all of them to their deaths._

She winced and squirmed uncomfortably, casting another glimpse towards the Killjoys' leader, who, although unaware anyone was watching, quickly wiped at his eye, something she assumed meant he was crying, or trying not to.

_Motherfucker._

She stood in a rush of courage and adrenaline, so fast Ashton turned to her, surprised, and instead of doing anything else she realized she had been thinking of, she went over to him, feigning curiosity of what he was doing. She eyed the small BLI medication bottle Ashton immediately slipped back into his pocket, and then whispered, "Any others?"

"No. I was ordered to assure none of them put up much of a fight, though." The man's voice was almost too soft for her to hear, and then he wordlessly held out a hand to her. She reached out, opened her palm, and then blinked as he dumped three light blue capsules onto it, and not the common medication she'd memorized the appearance of.

"They dissolve," he all but mouthed, and Bell shivered. _So it's a drug. He's going to drug them. _"All of them?"

He waved in a dismissive gesture, murmuring, "Whichever ones we can," and then turning to leave the kitchen. Bell stepped back to allow him to pass, stumbling a bit and then sitting once more in the chair behind her.

"Bell?"

She flinched and then gave a breathy sigh when she saw it was only Elise. She couldn't deal with one of the others innocently talking to her right now.

_They're not innocent…they've killed people too._

_Yeah, _another part of her shot back, _BLI agents trying to kill them. That's different._

"Yeah?" she finally replied as the twelve-year-old sat beside her, her eyes red like she'd been crying. "I…don't…"

"What?" Bell frowned, taking her hand for comfort.

Elise immediately pulled away. "I don't want to anymore," she whispered urgently.

In spite of her own feelings of guilt, Bell straightened up and frowned like the idea was offending. "El, come on. You have to. You already know what'll happen if you don't."

"They'll all live?" the younger bitterly asked, and Bell rolled her eyes. "Look. It's like Korse said before, okay? It's us or them."

Elise shook her head.

"Do you want to see your parents again?"

"Yes."

"Do you want both of us to go to a center for the rest of our lives?"

She shook her head once more.

"Then suck it up." Bell hadn't meant to be so rude, but her stress and will to convince the younger she was going through this phase of shame absolutely alone came out anyway. "You've just…just a few more hours, okay?"

"A few more hours until what?"

The two of them stiffened at Gerard's voice, and Bell whipped around, hoping how startled she was didn't show, watching the twenty-four-year-old as he leaned against the wall, curious.

"Until the broadcast." Bell was relieved the lie managed to come out strongly—usually she was terribly at that kind of thing.

"Oh." the Killjoy murmured, nodding slightly, and Bell had gotten so used to him being or seeming emotionless that his little smile only sparked suspicion on her part. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." Gerard replied with a small shrug. "Tired."

"Go rest, then." Bell murmured slowly, and he looked at her seriously, going expressionless once again. "I'm waiting for Ghoul to get back."

Bell didn't even blink. "He's probably gonna stay there and help if they're doing anything with the broadcast tonight."

"No." Gerard shook his head. "He left the map he's been working on. And we all were going to, not just him."

"Okay…so he'll be back soon, then, right?"

"I don't know." the Killjoy replied, his gaze lingering on her for a moment too long.

She unknowingly put a hand on her pocket for a split second and then casually crossed her arms. "Are you thirsty or something?"

He shook his head and went off, and Bell covered her face with a hand. "I can't do this." the nineteen-year-old muttered under her breath, and then shook her head like Elise had said it. "We have to. Got it?"

Elise sighed and then gave a grunt of agreement, casting her eyes downward as she left the kitchen, heading back into the music room.

Bell bit her lip, peered out once more at where Gerard had positioned himself in the exact same spot he left, and then shoved a hand into her pocket, feeling the small pills with her fingers, all at once coming to terms with exactly what she had to do, closing her eyes in a silent apology.

_I wish it hadn't come to this._

* * *

><p>He didn't want to sleep. He <em>couldn't. <em>He simply refused to allow himself to, and every time Frank felt himself dozing off, he shook himself out of it, preparing for the worst, for Korse or someone else to come back for him in the middle of the night. He had to be ready to fight, and while he wasn't, he had to be forming some sort of escape plan in his mind. It was useless, of course, but he was unwillingly to admit that.

When he finally did slip off, it was already morning, the sun rising slowly. And when he woke up, a few hours later, he felt like was burning alive, and he whimpered, struggling into a sitting position, blinking in the harsh sunlight and looking for shade. Only, there _wasn't _any—the cell had nothing but the fencing on the top of it, and the sun was high enough the parapet did nothing to provide anything but the smallest sliver of shadow.

Frank tried to squeeze into it anyway, turning his head against the cold concrete when his efforts failed, relieved he at least had that. He was sunburned and aching already, and he really hoped BLI's method of killing him wasn't going to be sun poisoning or dehydration—not that anything they had in mind was better, of course…whatever that may have been.

At last, the door on the other side of the roof rattled, and Frank forced himself to raise his head and look up as a Drac came over, standing in front of the gate, unlocking it, and then opening the cell.

"Stand." it ordered, and Frank flinched. A Drac that _spoke? _Since when had BLI had those? After a moment, the twenty-year-old obeyed it, never lifting his slightly confused glare. The Drac gestured for him to come out, and once he had, it took his arm and began walking, fast enough it was almost dragging the Killjoy. It led him down the same stairs as the night before, and once they'd gotten out into the hallway, Frank vaguely started wondering if he could fight it, or even have a chance if he did. He was still cuffed, yes, but his legs were free, which meant he could kick out, and more importantly, run. There was only one guard in the hallway, but…

He sighed. There'd be more. Too many to fight even with both of his hands free. He had no weapons or anything against them; he'd be killed or at least injured bad enough he wouldn't be able to attempt again before he got to the next floor down.

The Drac tightened its grip anyway, like it'd been reading his thoughts and missed his acknowledging of the fact it was hopeless, forcing him on towards his inevitable fate.

Thinking of anything he could to stall so he would have more time to come up with a plan, he dug his heels into the blue carpet, slowing the Drac considerably, and muttered, "I have to take a piss."

The Drac surprisingly turned to him, but it was only to yank him forward. "Walk."

"Did you hear me?"

"_Walk._"

"No."

"Trying to escape, Killjoy?"

Frank flinched and then frowned, knowing in an instant the voice did not belong to Korse, and he whirled around to see another man casually ambling over to them, a not-quite smile edging at his lips. He had to have been around forty, if not a few years older, and he seemed familiar; he loomed over Frank, and, after a second, the twenty-year-old recognized him.

Jared Adams—the man from the broadcast, from his time with the A.P., and who he'd been warned to stay away with from at all costs…and the man was standing a yard from him, almost curious, an eyebrow raised.

Frank tensed, ready to defend himself from all six-foot-five of the formally dressed man, though he was more startled by his next words than he would have been of an actual attack.

"Release him."

The Killjoy jumped as the Drac let go of his arm, staring at the newcomer in surprise.

"What? I heard you from down the hall. You're quite loud, really." His words were spoken with a slight English accent, and Frank frowned at it. He hadn't heard anyone have any accent besides an American or Japanese one for so long, he'd forgotten how different it sounded. He looked the man over, though he didn't seem very threatening, standing still as Frank evaluated him and then placing his hands behind his back, gesturing with a nod for him to follow.

He didn't move, and Adams turned. "Oh, of course. If your restraints are to be taken off, however, I must know—will you fight?"

Frank kept his mouth shut, feeling the answer was pretty damn obvious.

"I'm only offering the chance for you to be free enough to relieve yourself. If you don't accept, I will have you escorted as scheduled." The man sounded like he was incredibly bored, reciting the words for the millionth time.

The Killjoy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncertain. He didn't trust anyone here—and _kindness?_ Did they think he was as fucking stupid as some random drugged up kid from the city?

Adams blinked very slowly, patiently awaiting a response.

"Okay." The word was hardly above a mumble, and Frank felt ashamed as he said it, but he didn't know what else to do. He could've remained quiet and ignored him, but it would've gotten him nowhere. Besides, he was a little desperate, and the mere thought of having his wrists temporary not being cut into was too tempting.

Adams actually grinned this time, an action that disgusted Frank, and he snapped his finger with ease, apparently a signal to the Drac, because it was suddenly handling his cuffs, and then there was a _click _and his wrists came free. Frank gasped and brought them up to his chest, rubbing them in an attempt to both soothe the pain and get the circulation back, staring at Adams in a mixture of confusion and bewilderment.

The man didn't seem to notice; he just gestured for the boy to come along again, which he hesitantly did, glancing back and noting that the Drac did not follow, lost without orders.

Adams halted at the end of the hall, looking at Frank and his growing discomfort before finally turning around, pushing a door open, and pointing.

"Don't try anything," the man warned. "You've got five minutes."

Frank nodded, went in, and closed himself inside, groping around the wall until he'd found the light, quickly doing what he had to before taking the last of his time limit to look around at the walls for any means of escape, but there was nothing. In fact, the room was extremely small and hot, and he suddenly would have much rather been outside.

Hesitant, disappointed, Frank opened the door again, stepping out, cringing as he saw Adams, leaning against the opposite wall, his arms crossed, a smirk on his face. "Better?"

Frank flinched and averted his gaze. He was more wary of the man than he would have been had he not been afraid—no, there wasn't a _word _to describe how terrified he was—that he would end up in a replica scene of what Korse had done to him, hearing connotations that weren't actually there, fearing that every move that was made towards him was to hurt. He even stepped back as the agent straightened up, brushing himself off without care and then looking at him again, ignoring the fear if he noticed.

"You know," he began, "I was thinking. If you behave like you're a normal citizen, and not a rebel, I might just treat you as such."

"What're you, my fucking babysitter?" the Killjoy spat, irritated.

Adams scoffed. "Not in the least. But, for now, I don't believe violence is how I'm going to get anything out of you."

"What do you want?"

"There will be time for that later. Right now, though…" The man looked him over. "Are you hungry?"

It took every ounce of strength Frank had to assure his mouth didn't fall open, and he clenched his fists, disbelieving and disgusted the agent was acting how he was.

"Mm-mm; one wrong move and you'll regret it."

To be honest, Frank liked that better, and he relaxed his hands.

"Good. Now—are you?"

No matter how much he was, Frank refused to answer. He'd rather go days without food like he had before than accept something from them.

"What, Killjoy? Too proud?" Adams laughed softly when he got no reply, reaching out before Frank could pull away to grab his arm, tugging him towards the door, letting go, and then starting off down the stairs, pausing to watch Frank, who followed hesitantly. The man was a good actor, but Frank could easily see through the façade, and there was no way in hell he was going to fall for it. He wouldn't let himself be as helpless as he was last time. He'd practically _waited _to be hurt then. He was fairly certain he could have done something other than just sitting in the room, hoping Gerard was still alive and that they weren't going to be next. He could have _fought,_ even…though it would have been useless. He and Ray wouldn't have been able to escape without Gerard, or with Mikey being in the condition he had been.

He shook his head, putting a hand out to touch the wall as they turned another hallway just to assure he _was _in fact free—he had the chance to do something now.

Adams glanced back at him as if the thoughts had been said aloud. "Not planning something, I hope?" he called. "I'd expect nothing less from you, but I was rather hoping this wouldn't end badly."

Frank rolled his eyes. That was the next thing he contemplated—why was the man, the agent, the person who he knew wanted him and the others dead, being _nice _to him? It wasn't fully, as he was still in a sense threatening harm, but compared to anyone else he'd ever come in contact with working for the company—_minus Bell and Elise, _he thought, frowning—had shown nothing but complete and utter contempt towards them. Going on what he'd seen since Battery, he should have already been dead. Ashton should have been ordered to kill him, not bring him here for this.

The actions really only succeeded in making him hate the company even more. They'd killed off an entire city, all the Killjoy's families they'd been hoping one day to go back to along with any other Killjoy that hadn't been with them themselves. They'd tortured him and the others, gave less than a shit about the entirety of them, and now…

One of them was acting benign.

That alone made Frank sick, not even taking into consideration anything else, and he found himself glaring at the man as he turned again, a smirk crossing his lips. "Something wrong?"

Frank's otherwise calm, slow pace gave a jerk, and he clenched his fists, about to let out a string of obscenities but cut off before he could.

"Don't speak. If you don't think I know everything you're going to say and haven't heard it a hundred times before, I'll remind you we _did _once have rebels in the Zones surrounding this city. Not only have I heard it, but it's been from the mouth of one of you. And, as I've come to notice, you all say the exact same things. How much you dislike us, how you're goals in life are to rid us of our power—"

"How fucked up you all are," Frank interrupted acrimoniously, and Adams paused, quick enough the Killjoy nearly ran into him.

"That too, in language quite similar."

Frank opened his mouth to spit another curse at him, and then snapped it shut and staggered a step as there was a sharp stinging sensation across his face, so abrupt he didn't even register what had happened for a few seconds.

Adams lowered his hand and smiled. "I've heard it before," he repeated, his syllables spaced out. "And truthfully, I'd prefer not to hear it again. Clear?"

Frank only glared, but recoiled as the man took a threatening step forward, unwittingly muttering, "Yes."

Adams gave a swift nod and a genuine smile of satisfaction. "Good!" He gestured and started off again. The Killjoy didn't move, a hand still on his cheek, no longer categorizing the man as different. He wasn't kind; he was a BLI agent, same as the rest. He didn't care, he was simply pretending in order to get him to cooperate, probably just as willing as Korse was to break him. He flinched at the thought, stepping back as the man faced him again. His fear and desperation to stay away from him was apparently evident, because the man grinned sadistically and said, "Try something. Run. I dare you."

Frank didn't, though his heart was racing, adrenaline pumping through his veins, readying his body to flee.

"Come here, Killjoy."

He remained where he was.

"You have no idea how painful I can make this for you. You can come now and receive food, or you can be dragged to where I want you and go hungry."

Shakily lowering his head, Frank obeyed, and Adams nodded, pushing him through the last door on the right, allowing him to cringe away and then shutting the door behind them.

Frank watched him, wary, and then turned around, frowning at the table in the middle with food on it, horrified. They were treating him like he actually mattered—what the _hell _was going on?

"What're you _doing?_" he found himself asking, his voice giving away just how disgusted he was.

Adams gave no immediate response; instead he gently pushed him again, glad he got the idea to sit and then taking the seat across from him.

Frank repeated himself, louder, and Adams smirked. "What, Killjoy? Didn't believe anyone working for us could fit a description not yours?" He chuckled, causing Frank to squirm uncomfortably in the seat.

"You're quite wrong about a lot of things," the man continued, casually taking a drink from the glass before him. "You know that?"

Frank didn't answer, eyeing the food and then inwardly kicking himself as he had the urge to reach for it. _Are you fucking out of your mind?_

"Like how you believe we've drugged your food."

Frank snapped his head up to frown at him.

"We haven't, by the way."

"Like I trust _you_."

Adams smirked. "You're hungry, though. You want to."

Concerned by how obvious his feelings were, Frank averted his gaze, focusing on the glass of water before him, trying to swallow and finding his mouth was too dry.

_No, they would've got that, too._

Adams sighed impatiently. "Am I wasting my time, boy? Because, to be honest, I would much rather spend the time before tonight elsewhere…"

"W-what's tonight?" His voice was terribly hoarse and almost inaudible.

Adams lowered his eyes and smiled a bit, taking another sip, probably completely aware how frightening that was and enjoying it.

"Eat," he at last spoke again, gesturing. "I'm afraid I don't know when else you'll receive an offer like this, so, no matter how much you dislike us, Killjoy…I'd accept it."

Frank mulled over the idea, clasping his hands under the table. He _was _hungry, and even though there was only bread on the plate in front of him, the longer he looked at it and thought, the more it became the best thing he'd ever seen.

_So dangerous…don't…_

Hesitant, ashamed, the Killjoy finally extended an arm to it, bringing a piece to his lips, still uncertain, and then once the aroma hit his nose, he had no fucking _idea _what happened, only coming back to himself when the damage had been done, staring open-mouthed at the now-empty plate. He blinked, choked out something that sounded like _no, _and slumped back in the seat, incredulous.

Adams actually laughed. "You're really set on the idea we poisoned you, aren't you?"

Frank didn't say anything—he was focusing on his vision, his thoughts, how he felt—Goddamn it, how could he have been so stupid?

But nothing changed, and the only thing that felt different was that he felt almost content, his stomach no longer aching and growling.

He finally looked back up at the man, confused, and then felt like someone punched him as he understood.

The BLI agent had just _helped him. _Without drugging or tampering with anything; a normal, _humane _gesture of kindness.

The Killjoy's stomach lurched, and he grimaced, trying to fight back the attempt his body was making to expel everything he'd just consumed.

"You're quite paranoid, boy."

Frank glared at him and then looked down, carefully grabbing the glass, uncomfortably aware of the man watching intently, and then at last had completely finished, shameful of how pathetic he'd just been.

"Good!" Adams suddenly said, so loud Frank jumped and gasped.

The man stared at him, cocking an eyebrow in interest. "Now, Frank…"

The twenty-year-old seemed startled by his own name.

"I must ask. Do you think you can behave well enough I can allow you to remain unrestrained?"

Frowning, he murmured, "For what?"

"Can you?"

"For _what?_"

Adams rolled his eyes, stood, and came over to him, grasping his wrist and jerking him to his feet. "You will answer the questions I ask, understand?" He sighed as Frank only twisted to get free, reaching out and again slapping him, hard, freezing his struggles. "_Understand?_"

"Stupid son of a _bitch!_" Frank shouted, anger resulting from both the humiliation and the fact he'd again fallen for believing the man was dissimilar to the rest of them, and Adams struck him once more. "Clear?"

"Yes," Frank whispered, wincing, and the man narrowed his eyes. "Can you control yourself?"

"…Yes."

Nodding, his smile returning, the agent released him, going over to the door and gesturing for the Killjoy to follow. Once they'd gotten down the hall, the man tightly grabbed his wrist like he no longer trusted him, snapping, "Be quiet," when Frank questioned where they were going.

Frank said nothing more, pressing his lips together, though his fear mounted as he discovered they weren't going into another room as he'd suspected. Instead, they went down flight after flight of stairs until they reached the ground floor.

Keeping a firm grip on Frank's arm, just above his elbow, Adams led him out into the empty, open lobby, frightening similar to the Battery City building, so much that Frank unknowing stopped for a moment, only to be tugged forward unhesitatingly, tripping him. Adams gave him an annoyed glare, like he'd done it on purpose, and then looked ahead again, shoving the door open for them. Frank winced in the harsh light, instinctively trying to get away as it kicked in he was outside. Adams grunted at the sudden struggle, jerking the boy back and putting an arm around his waist to keep him there.

"No! Let go!" Frank gasped, writhing to get out of the grip, far more alarmed by the uncomfortable touch now than being unable to escape.

The man ignored him, pulling him closer and trying to force him to continue. When that didn't happen, he smacked the boy, grabbed his wrists, held them behind him, and brought his knee into the back of Frank's. The Killjoy exclaimed, dropping to the concrete.

"Did you not _hear _me, Iero?" Adams hissed into his ear, irate, yanking his arms further when he didn't answer. "Answer, boy!"

"Bastard—" Frank managed, teeth clenched, and then cried out when the man released him enough that he collapsed completely, still gripping his wrists so he could not break his fall.

"I do not have time for this, Killjoy. Cooperate."

Suppressing a whimper, Frank weakly nodded, and Adams stepped back, crossing his arms. "Get up."

Frank warily did so, wincing, feeling blood trickle down from his lip. He bit his tongue to keep the curses back, swallowing hard and finally raising his gaze to Adams' uncaring expression.

"Walk," the man ordered, gesturing with his head towards the car he'd been leading him to, remaining indifferent as Frank only blinked at it. "Or I'll drag you."

Frank turned, stumbled slightly, and then took a deep breath, forcing himself towards the BLI vehicle, feeling the agent grab his shirt as they got close. Adams opened the back door, literally tossed him inside, and then shut it.

With a choked sob, Frank sat up, putting his fingers to his lip, unsurprised when they came back bright red. He touched his tongue to the spot that stung to stop the bleeding, winced, closed his eyes, and leaned back, exhausted. He didn't know what was going on, but he could only hope Gerard and the others were okay. He hadn't seen Ashton again, but he also hadn't seen any of the other Killjoys either, so he could only assume that meant that for now, they were safe.

He sat there in the heat, sweating profusely, for what must have been twenty minutes, growing sleepier with every second that passed, wishing he'd taken advantage of the time he'd had in the cell for resting. At last he couldn't fight it, and he moved onto his side, protectively hugging himself as he drifted into slumber mere seconds before Adams got into the car himself, never hearing the engine start or the order of, "Don't try anything," before the man realized he didn't have to worry.

He waited a moment longer for another figure to get into the passenger seat, and then pulled out of the fenced in area around the building.

"You're positive," Adams began, "that this will go through correctly?"

"Of course," the woman snapped. "If it doesn't, we still have nothing to be concerned over. We'll get them before they ever have a chance."

Adams nodded without responding. "You think they'll still try?"

"Hard to say. He and their leader are enamored," she gestured at Frank with a nod. "So I'm sure he won't. But then, they may attempt a rescue, or the A.P. may try something…we can only prepare, really."

She shifted, bringing something out of her pocket and handing it to him. "In the event he misbehaves, or tries to escape…we can't be too careful with a _Killjoy._" She spat the word in hatred.

Adams took and concealed it within his coat, expecting her to speak again, but she didn't, returning her gaze to the city as they drove on in silence.

At last they came to the arena the Killjoys had assisted the A.P. in halting the previous broadcast at, pulling into a back entrance labeled in large letters spelling, DO NOT ENTER: STAFF ONLY. Getting out, Adams opened the back door and reached in, jerking the Killjoy into a sitting position and then pulling him out before he'd even fully opened his eyes, waiting until he reoriented himself and straightened up before ushering him forward.

"Where're we…?" the Killjoy mumbled, blinking in an attempt to recall why the bit of building seemed familiar, and Adams didn't answer, leading him through the doors and to another plain room. He sat him on a chair towards the side and pinned his wrists tightly behind the back of it with what felt like a zip tie. With nothing but a satisfied nod that Frank was going nowhere, the man turned and exited the room, leaving him alone.

Confused, Frank struggled against the tie for the longest time, succeeding in nothing but further paining the injuries on his wrists from the handcuffs, at last stopping when he felt blood run down to his fingers. He whimpered, only because there was no one to hear him, and then cried out softly for the same reason, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the tears and lowering his head. He would _not cry. _He would be defiant until his fucking end, and if that happened to be today…

He pulled on the restraints again when a few tears slipped down his cheeks anyways, hoping the pain would distract him, and then struggled to wipe them away on his shoulders. _Stop, _he silently pleaded with himself as he unwillingly gave another sob. What was _wrong _with him? Fun Ghoul wouldn't have been crying.

_Or maybe he would. Maybe if he just couldn't fucking handle anymore shit happening to him. If he just didn't want to be hurt anymore. _

As if he wasn't humiliated enough, Adams opened the door, only stepping a few feet inside before he grinned, watching Frank as he sucked in a few breaths and shook his hair into his face, trying to hide.

"Aw. Something wrong, Killjoy?"

Frank raised his head, scowling, and then spat at Adams, missing his foot by a mere inch. "Shit," he muttered, disappointed; his aim had once been pretty damn amazing. He glared at the man. "Why am I here?"

"You rebels, the rest of you…would they go through with the A.P.'s plans without you?"

"Yes. They don't know anything about where I am yet."

"And if they did?"

Suddenly understanding, Frank scoffed. "You're gonna use me as a fucking hostage? Are you that scared of them?"

The man chuckled darkly. "It's you who should be afraid. We're sending out one message, one message _only, _and if the rest of you decide to ignore it, or do not see it at all, we will not only kill you, but them, the moment any of our guards see them."

He grinned wickedly as the Killjoy paled. "Oh yes. We've never had need for such before. If it was disrupted, we always found another way for the message to eventually get out to the citizens. Of course, none have been as important as this, which needs to be immediate. We cannot risk it being tampered with. So, at every entrance, every possible area they could enter, we have armed guards with the permission to shoot on sight."

"Bastards! What if they don't see it?"

"You think I wouldn't order them to be killed if they were seen anyway? You clearly don't grasp the concept of how little I care about you all. How _enjoyable _causing you pain is." He paused a moment in thought. "I haven't been given permission to have as much control over someone as I do you. I could do _anything _to you, and as long as you stay alive, at least until we've entirely finished with you, it wouldn't matter."

He took a jerky step towards Frank, smirking as he flinched back. "Keep that in mind, boy. I already take pleasure in causing the likes of you as much discomfort as I can—don't give me a reason. Understood?"

Nodding, Frank then murmured, shakily, "The other citizens…they'll see. They'll see what you're doing."

"What? That I'm using you? That I've hurt you? Do you think any of them care about a Killjoy? We've assured they believe that you're all nothing less than terrible criminals that wish to bring disorder to the city."

"Of course you have."

"They won't see you, anyway. Won't know a thing about it."

"…You said—"

Adams waved a hand to cut him off, remaining silent as he walked over to the chair, bending behind it and cutting the restraint. Frank jerked his hands up to his chest, absentmindedly massaging them as he waited to see what the man would do.

The man went back over to the door and gestured to him. "Move, Killjoy," he demanded when the boy didn't get up, and so he slowly did so, feeling the man grab his shirt as he passed.

Told to keep his mouth shut, Frank allowed the agent to half-drag him along, down two other hallways, and then up onto the actual stage. The curtain was still closed, and Frank wondered if there would be as big of an audience like there had been the last time. How were they supposedly going to alert the Killjoys without any of them seeing?

He widened his eyes. God, unless he _wasn't. _He'd leave them to come and be killed without ever realizing what had happened.

Adams shoved him roughly, leading him until they reached the other side, then pushed him into another chair towards the wall. Frank stiffened his arms, expecting them to be bound again, but he was left free.

"Stay in the chair or you'll regret it. Clear?"

Frank only glared, and Adams obviously took it as a challenge, because he fished something out of his coat and held it out. The moment Frank lifted himself up a bit to see it, curious and slightly concerned, the man extended his arm completely, touching the object just under Frank's ribs. A shock so sudden and intense the Killjoy almost blacked out exploded through him, and he opened his mouth in a silent scream, unable to make a sound even as the weapon pulled back. He doubled over, nearly slipping off the seat entirely.

"You'll learn, Killjoy. What did I tell you? You answer everything I ask you. Now—are we _clear?_"

Frank whimpered, managed a nod, and then curled up tighter when he feared that wasn't a good enough answer, bracing himself for more agony that never came. He had no strength to move or look up, so he didn't realize the man was no longer in front of him. He remained where he was, breathing hard, as the pain slowly dulled, and then heard an unfortunately familiar voice snap, "Sit up, Killjoy!"

Frank hesitantly obeyed, wincing, still half bent over when he had to stop, staring up at Newsagogo in contempt through the hair hanging over his face.

"Up!" News roughly grabbed his hair and forced him to sit up, ignoring his moan, and then gave another yank, muttering, "This is coming off," under her breath before releasing him and then turning to where Adams was standing further back, next to a camera.

Confused, aching, Frank tightly hugged himself and watched as News stepped just to the right of his chair.

"One word, Iero," Adams warned, throwing the taser he'd used to News. She caught it, but seemed uninterested, tossing it onto the table beside her and instead taking out a white ray gun, aiming it at the Killjoy so abruptly he jumped and put his hands up in a feeble attempt to stop her if she was going to shoot, though she didn't.

He looked to Adams as he casually adjusted his shirt, casting a smirk back at the Killjoy.

"Show time, kid."


	24. Of What Was And What Could Have Been

**Note: None of the following was really edited, so beware the typos.**

To anyone who will see this (most likely no one, this is really for me), hello. It's been a while, huh? I'll keep it short and to the point.

This is the end of The World is Ugly.

Why?

Well.

I have spent so much time on this, put my freshmen, sophomore, and junior years of my life into writing this story, and I'm proud of it. I'm proud of what it could've been, I'm proud of what it turned into, I'm proud of what it helped me get through, I'm proud that I'm nothing like the me who started this in freshmen year.

But I'm not having fun anymore. I get extremely annoyed and pissed at the very thought of writing anything that even halfway relates to this, to Killjoys, to MCR in general.

I used to stay up all night writing this, but I barely think about it anymore. And when I do, I immediately shove it out of my head, and replace it with what I AM having fun doing.

This was a severe coping method for me, really, and up until I stopped posting new chapters, I really needed it. But I'm so much better now. I'm so much happier now. I'm so much less like the Gerard I wrote while I was writing it, and I'm so much more like who I always wanted to be when I first started listening to MCR, with who I always felt I should be.

And that's another thing. The breakup fucked me up. I pretended for a few months that I didn't care, but one day I finally broke down and cried for hours, because I DID care. I cared too much. I don't want to think about them anymore. I don't want to think about this story anymore, about who I used to be, about the deep, dark, suicidal depression I was in for I don't even know how long; way before I started this story. I don't want to remember all the shit I used to think, what I used to do to myself, and I sure as hell don't want to write about it anymore.

When I started The World is Ugly, I thought that as I made Gerard get better, I would get better too. That's not how it ended up working.

However, I received the help I need, and after almost a year, I've never been happier. I didn't think I _could _be happy. And I am. And sometimes I believe that MCR, and how much I enjoyed writing this story, is what kept me here long enough I could get better.

So, that's that...

But I did have an ending planned out, and several parts already written. I got several requests to let others finish it, but this was such a huge piece of my life, I could never let that happen. So, for those who have been waiting for the six hundred thousand years it's been, here is how the rest of the story would have gone.

Bell was, in the next chapter, going to come out to the Killjoys about what was really happening, and who she was really working for, and while they would be mad, they'd have to work together for the rest of the story.

Frank was to show up on the screen in a warning to the Killjoys to surrender, and Gerard was to pretty much snap in like the opposite direction and instead of getting sad again he gets very, very angry, and go to the AP group with a plan and, in front of a Watcher van, kiss one of them (guyxguy, illegal) and when they stopped, the rest of the Killjoys would attack and get the van to sneak in. Only it didn't work very well, and Adams would talk over the radio and tell Gerard to pick up the radio and talk, and I really like how I wrote this part, and how Gerard becomes the leader he was before again, SO:

* * *

><p>x<p>

* * *

><p>"Killjoy."<p>

Every one of them flinched, immediately going silent and losing the smiles they'd been relieved to finally have again, staring at the dashboard radio in front of them, scarcely daring to breathe.

"Don't pretend that didn't go through," the accented voice continued, "this is connected to each and every van. And we know you confiscated one, because they did not clock in on the hour as they should have. Now, Killjoy, pick it up."

No one moved.

"I said, pick up the Goddamn radio!"

Gerard, who'd been the closest, recoiled at the abrupt shout, putting his hands up like he thought the radio would somehow hit him, pressing himself back against the seat.

"Would you like me to address you properly, boy? You know who I am speaking to. The infamous Party Poison, leader of the rebels."

His mouth falling agape, Gerard's chin tilted down. The rest of the kids stared at him, awaiting his next move.

"Gerard Way," the voice sang mockingly, and then paused for another enraged shriek. "_Pick it up!_"

Tentatively, the twenty-four-year-old reached his hand out, taking part that was handheld and bringing it mere inches away from his lips, clicking the button. "Where is he?"

"Ah, so you are at least a bit intelligent. Good."

"_Where is he?_" Now it was the Killjoy's turn to holler, his entire body taut and trembling in the effort of making his voice go as loud as it had.

"Ooh, getting testy, are we?" the man chuckled, and Gerard resisted the longing he had to curse this man with every word he knew, instead growling, "What the fuck do you want with him?"

"With who, your precious baby?"

"If you've _touched _him—"

"Did you miss the broadcast? I thought it was quite clear I already have."

Gerard slammed his fist onto the center console, the others jumping back in surprise as he screamed, "Hurt him again, you son of a bitch, and I'll fucking—"

"Shut up, Way. Your threats are empty. Useless." There was a gap in his words as he snorted. "Just as useless as you."

Closing his eyes to compose himself, he responded with, "Why did you take him?"

"Because I knew you would try to get him back. And that's precisely what I wanted." A pause. "Up for a little game, Gerard?"

The Killjoy wet his lips. "What're you playing at?"

"A choice."

"Keep talking, fucker!"

"Now, now, no need for that."

Gerard clenched his teeth, ready to kill something in the fury pulsing through his weary figure. A few of the A.P. kids who'd been closer to him leaned back like they expected him to punch out at one of them. "A choice?"

"Mm. You may either choose to turn both yourself and the rest of your A.P. friends in, or I'll turn your sweetheart into a SCARECROW."

The Killjoy trembled. "How do I know you haven't already?"

There was a long pause, and then it clicked on again, and shaky breathing was heard. "G-Gee…?"

Gerard cried out at the unmistakable voice, shouting "Frankie!" without pressing the button in shock and relief of the confirmation he was still alive. Dazed, by the sound of it, but alive and unharmed enough to speak, and for right now, that was all he cared about.

"Gee…hel'me…" The radio cut out as Frank whimpered, returning halfway through Adams' next sentence. "—enough of that. Sorry, Way, little Frankie's a bit tired…"

"What the fuck did you do to him?"

"We need someone to test our drugs on, don't we?"

"I'll fucking kill you."

"I'm awfully scared now."

Clenching his fist, Gerard struck out at the door and then pressed his head against the steering wheel with a sob.

"I'm growing tired of waiting, Killjoy. What's your answer?"

Gerard raised his head, uncaring that his face was now streaked with tears, eyeing each and every one of the kids and then shakily sighing, determination edging onto his expression.

"Fine. Fine, yeah."

Several of them gasped, and Jesse shouted, "No! Are you crazy?"

Adams snickered. "Maybe you are a bit more intelligent than I believed."

"No," Gerard cleared his throat, his voice gradually getting louder. "No. We're not turning ourselves in. I'll tell you what the fuck we're gonna do. We're coming to your building, we're going to kill every last one of your fucking guards, every last person that gets in our _fucking way,_ and then—are you listening, fucker?—I'm going to find you and I'm going to _end _you." He paused, gasping now. "Frank—hold on, baby."

Before the man could even attempt a response, Gerard yanked the wire out of the dashboard, disconnecting it permanently and then turning to the others, all of whom were now smirking. "Ready?"

Elliot shook his head and laughed. "Hell, never been more ready."

"Great." He pressed his foot against the gas pedal, throwing the vehicle into drive. "Let's fucking do this."

* * *

><p>x<p>

* * *

><p>AND then, they would've gone and reached the gates, and they would open for them, and there wouldn't be any guards, and they'd be like UH? And of course it'd be a trap, but Gerard doesn't care, and they find Frank and get him out of there, and they run back to the AP hideout not sure but thinking theyre safe (or at least hoping), and Frank ends up having a tracking device on his ankle, and they all get re-captured EXCEPT for Jesse, and Jesse ends up meeting a bunch of non-AP members who don't take medication who've been sticking together for a while, too scared to do anything until now. And they'll put together a plan I didn't quite figure out totally to get the others out.<p>

Meanwhile, Korse is being a piece of shit to Gerard and using everything he's been told about the Killjoy (_everything_) to taunt him, and Adams perfected the medication to stop Frank from thinking and to do whatever he says, and after a while Adams takes G to a room where Frank is and:

* * *

><p>x<p>

* * *

><p>"Get up, Way."<p>

Gerard did not give any reply at Adams' voice, remaining where he was, in the corner.

"I said _get up._"

Adams sighed in irritation as Gerard continued to ignore him. "You're just like Iero, aren't you?" he muttered, and then grabbed Gerard by his hair. The Killjoy cried out as he yanked on it, weakly scrabbling to his knees and then up completely, back against the wall.

"You'll learn like he did." Adams said with a satisfied nod, shoving him out of the room and into the hall.

"Where is he?"

Adams only just heard the whisper-like voice, and he chuckled. "Don't worry. You're going to see him right now."

Almost immediately concerned by the tone of the man's voice, Gerard went with him quietly, hoping that Frank was still alive when they got to him.

They went down a floor, and then the agent stopped them in front of a door, smirking at the Killjoy.

Uneasy, Gerard murmured, "What…?"

Adams grabbed his wrist without responding, opening the door and roughly pushing him in.

Falling to his hands and knees, the twenty-four-year-old gave a grunt and then raised his head, his mouth dropping open as he saw the other figure in the room. "Frank!"

Frank did not react to his voice—didn't even blink—and Gerard instantly knew something was wrong. "…Frank?"

"Who are you talking to, Way?" Adams chuckled menacingly, and Gerard cried out in despair. "What'd you fucking do to him?"

"Trust me, it's an improvement."

"Please, no, he's—?"

Adams disregarded his stammering and said, "Come here, Iero."

Frank obeyed immediately, not even acknowledging Gerard's existence, stopping in front of the man, and only then did Gerard see his love was holding a gun in his hand.

"Think you all are able to fight against everything we do, still?" Adams taunted, giving this dramatic gesture to the brainwashed Killjoy. "Hm? Think you're so defiant and brave? Your precious little boyfriend was _crying_ for you earlier."

Gerard did not reply, eyes wide, and then he weakly reached out to take Frank's free hand, squeezing gently. "Frankie?"

Frank again was silent and unresponsive, and as Adams uttered an order of, "Turn," his hand slipped out of the older's as he faced him, his eyes blank and unseeing.

Gerard stood, took a step back, trembling a bit. "No. No, don't," he looked at Adams, his terror obvious.

"Aim, Iero."

Frank raised the gun to level with the older's chest.

"Stop, Frank, don't!" Gerard stepped up to him, taking his hand again, eyes on the weapon. "Don't, Frankie, it's me! W-what're you—"

"Fire, boy."

Gerard gasped as Frank pulled the trigger. The gun sputtered, and a sharp pain exploded in the center of his chest. He crumpled, half onto Frank, who didn't make any move to catch him, and hit the ground, panting raggedly and shaking and—still alive?

Adams glared down at him like he would have a piece of dirt, if even that. "Get up, Way. It's a faulty stun gun. Barely does anything."

Gerard could hardly move, though—he was trembling almost too hard to function, and he felt he couldn't breathe no matter how much he knew he could. He put a hand on his chest, aching from how close the shot had been, and then stared at his hand, twitching his fingers and completely enthralled with the fact there was no blood on them. Finally he let out an agonized moan and looked up at Frank, heartbroken when he saw the younger hadn't moved at all. He hadn't even lowered the gun.

Adams laughed. "That's not even the best part, Killjoy!" He turned his attention to Frank. "Come here, Iero."

Frank obeyed, holding the gun by his side again, leaving Gerard on the floor, his mouth gaping, his arm pressed tightly to his chest.

"What is his name?" Adams pointed at the dazed Killjoy, and Frank tonelessly replied, "Gerard Way. Party Poison, sir."

"Do you love him?"

"No."

Gerard whimpered softly.

"I'm sorry?" Adams raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"No, sir."

"If I told you to kill him, with a real gun this time, would you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Without hesitation?"

"Without hesitation, sir."

Adams grinned sadistically, and looked back at Gerard, who had lowered his gaze, his hand now covering his mouth, looking like he was both going to be sick and cry, maybe somehow all at once.

"Good," Adams praised, holding out his hand for the white, plastic weapon, which Frank placed back in his grip. Then he stood, rigid, until Adams murmured, "You are dismissed."

"Frank!" Gerard tried, getting to his knees. "Frank, please! I love you!"

Adams put a hand on Frank's shoulder as he went to leave. "I'm sorry, do you love Gerard Way?"

"No, sir."

"At all?"

"I don't love him at all, sir."

That fucking _did _it. Gerard shrieked in absolute fury, lunging at Adams before he was even aware of getting to his feet, striking every place he could manage, screaming curses.

"Iero! Restrain the Killjoy!"

Gerard expected the twenty-year-old to have a weak grasp, one he could easily get out of, but the second Frank grabbed his arms and wrenched them behind his back, he was unable to break free. It was almost the same as being in rope or handcuffs, only he knew the hands, had felt them on him before—never like this. They were cold, now, and Frank's grip hurt, his nails digging into the skin.

Adams shook his head and straightened up, his hand clenching. Gerard saw it coming but could do nothing to stop it, and he cringed as the fist caught him across his jaw, snapping his head to the side and causing his vision to go white for a moment. He winced, unable to even raise his head before the man struck him again and then grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up.

"I'm telling you, boy," he began, seething, a line of blood running down from his nose, "the minute we find the rest of your friends, you're going to have a front row seat to their deaths."

Gerard opened his mouth to say how he'd heard it before, how the agent was wasting his time, but didn't have a chance before he was hit twice more. He sagged forward, spitting onto the floor, and then looked up. "I'll kill you, you stupid fucking bastard."

Adams chuckled darkly, smacking him again, enjoying the pathetic attempt Gerard gave to pretend it hadn't pained him. "You can't even hurt me."

"Really?" Gerard grinned smugly, his front teeth and bottom lip stained bright red. He scrunched up his nose in a gesture his hands weren't free for. "You got a little something right there…"

"Oh?" Adams began, feigning he hadn't noticed, and while Gerard was distracted with the delight for having caused it, the man kicked his leg out and between Gerard's.

Gerard's smirk was immediately replaced with a grimace of agony, and he doubled over and stumbled back. Frank tripped, and then grunted as he fell back to the floor, releasing Gerard in surprise.

Adams frowned, watching as Gerard curled into a ball, unable to even cry out. "I'm in control, Killjoy. What part of that don't you understand?" He hadn't wanted an answer, but he drove his shoe into Gerard's stomach anyway, watching his mouth open and close in useless, desperate attempts to get a breath. "Hmm? I can kill you—I can have _Iero _kill you—anytime I want to. I can hurt you and him and all of your friends far worse than you have _ever _been hurt before. Do not test me, Way."

Gerard shuddered violently, and then finally took a shallow gasp, squeezing his eyes shut, panting hard and completely consumed in the agony. He didn't feel a warm hand settle onto his ankle, but Adams saw Frank do it, scowling. It didn't look like the younger even noticed what he was doing, staring blankly ahead as he awaited another order, but it was an act of attempted comfort nonetheless, something Adams despised. "Iero! Get up!"

Frank immediately did so, his arms stiffening by his sides, looking straight at Adams.

"Go to Korse; do whatever he asks of you."

"No…" Gerard managed, barely a whisper, but couldn't even open his eyes.

"Yes, sir," Frank replied, going off without a moment's hesitation. Adams paused for a moment, reached down, and brushed Gerard's hair out of his face. "What do I have to do to make you listen, hmm?" he asked, his voice far too gentle, and yet Gerard did nothing.

"Do I really have to assure what happened last time happens again?"

Gerard didn't want to understand—didn't want to realize that more than he and Frank knew about their abuse, that they were going to be _threatened_ with it now.

"Should I?" Adams asked again, amused, moving his hand down to where he'd just connected his shoe to, and Gerard whimpered in pain. "Hmm?"

"Pl…ple…'s don't." the Killjoy slurred between gasps, and Adams smirked. "You sure? I heard it worked before…or was that only because it was done to Iero, too?" He paused for a moment. "What if I ordered him to enjoy it? You saw just how well he obeys…"

"Fucker!" Gerard spat, ignoring the discomfort it caused, raising his hand to shove Adams' away. "Don't…don't you dare."

"Maybe I'll even do it in front of everyone. In front of you, the A.P., and every last one of your Killjoys…how would you like that? So all of you can hear him moaning in the pleasure I told him to have?"

"No!"

"Then you?" Adams palmed the Killjoy through his jeans again. "I could give it to you and do the same. How would they feel about that?"

Gerard's eyes flickered closed, and he mumbled something incoherent, weakly swatting at Adams' hand before he let his arm drop to the tile.

Adams figured he must've still been conscious, because his brow was still furrowed, and his teeth remained tightly gritted, but it was clear he was going to say nothing else, and so the man stood, turned on his heel, and went out, locking the door behind him.

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><p>x<p>

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><p>because being a sadistic asshole is super fun for me. Anyway, after that:<p>

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><p>x<p>

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><p>It was Frank that opened the door to the room Gerard was in at last—or at least, his body. His mind was gone, something Gerard could only hope was temporary. At first, even he caused Gerard to curl up tighter, not having moved from where he'd fallen before. He didn't want to face his love again, but the younger's voice spoke up anyway.<p>

"I was asked to assure you weren't injured too badly."

"How sweet."

"Are you in need of something?"

Gerard blinked, half raising his head to look at Frank. "The bathroom?"

"I am not permitted to let you leave this room."

"Frank, stop!" the Killjoy exclaimed, sitting up with a wince of pain. "Snap the fuck out of it! It's me! _Gerard!_ Your boyfriend!"

Frank stared blankly back; the words didn't compute.

"Gee! I've been with you for six years! C'mon, Frankie, you gotta remember, I don't care _what_ they gave you!"

"Gee." Frank repeated, softly, sounding a bit different.

"What?" Gerard tried hopefully, but his spirits fell as Frank replied with, "I said nothing." He turned to leave. "If you need nothing, I—"

"The fucking _bathroom, _Frank," Gerard repeated urgently, frowning. "Like, now."

This time, Frank didn't refuse the request. Instead, he hesitated, tried to process. "I was given explicit instructions to—"

"Ask if I needed anything?"

"No."

Gerard wasn't quite sure what was meant by that, but it made sense. BLI didn't care if a Killjoy was hurt or not. Maybe it was something of Frank's personality, his care for Gerard, bleeding through the drug's haze? "I—fucking hell, just let me out for two Goddamn minutes! C'mon, seriously, please."

Frank watched him for a long moment and then said, "Stand."

With a bit of difficulty, Gerard did so, coming over to him, and then Frank turned and led him out to where the hallway ended, pointing at the little room he must have known about from when he'd been prisoner here. "Be quick, I—"

"Iero!"

Gerard flinched, glaring at Newsagogo as she strode down the hall towards them.

"What're you doing?"

"The Killjoy needed to—"

"Correct," she interrupted," he is a Killjoy. That means he is not to be let out of where we put him, for any reason, unless it is by one of us!"

Gerard must've made some noise he wasn't aware of, because News suddenly looked at him in aversion. He nearly complained to her, distressed enough he wouldn't have minded the embarrassment too much, but she rolled her eyes before he was reduced to such pathetic behavior, gesturing at the door and muttering, "One time, Killjoy."

He looked at Frank for a moment, heard News click her tongue impatiently, and then went past the both of him.

"Don't lock the door!" he heard the woman call after him, and if he hadn't already been in pain and reluctant to receive more, Gerard might've done it just to piss her off. She had drugged him before, watched him writhe with a smile on her face, and with whatever the entirety of BLI had done to Frank, she was part responsible in it. She deserved anything he could do to her, and in fact, after he'd finished, he clicked the lock anyway, immediately glancing around to see if there was any chance of escape.

He spun around, glancing over every bit of wall, wincing as News began pounding on the door and screeching at him. There was _nothing, _not even a window.

Or so he thought, until he by chance looked up, like he expected something to be there.

Directly above him was an air vent, one that, if he stood on top of the sink, he'd be able to reach. There was a small hook on the side of it, indicating that the cover could come off. It looked a little too small for him to fit through, but in any case, he began wondering if it could aid him.

"Killjoy!"

Gerard flinched, backing away from the door as he heard Adams' voice replace News', and he grimaced.

"Open the door, Killjoy," the man went on, his too-calm tone returning. "You know you don't have a choice. There's nowhere you can go."

All the same, Gerard still hesitated, looking up at the vent again. Were they everywhere? Did his room have one? If it did, could he reach it with nothing to stand on? And before he was caught?

Another loud few knocks on the door shook the thoughts away, and he took a deep breath, opening the door. A hand grabbed hold of his collar and yanked him out, throwing him carelessly to the ground.

Gerard made no sound, lifting himself up on an arm, and then gasped when Adams bent down and grasped his dark hair. "Used to be red, didn't it?" he murmured, and then used his other hand and the object in it to silence Gerard before he could speak. The cold metal slipped under Gerard's shirt, pressed to his hip, and then sent a sudden bolt of electricity through him. He shrieked, writhed to get away, and Adams got to his knees, digging one of them into the back of Gerard's legs once he'd flipped onto his stomach, preventing him from getting up.

With another agonized yell, clawing at the tile, Gerard squeezed his eyes shut, able to do nothing but wait for it to end and hope it didn't kill him first. Finally, the weapon was removed, and the pain turned into a dull, aching throb in every last inch of his body as he gasped and trembled.

"…learn, Way? Through pain? Is that what you need in order to obey us?"

"Never," Gerard coughed out, and then felt the device at his side again, whimpering as the pain returned. He shook violently, struggling to make his arms work to try and shove it away, but he was forced to endure it until it stopped, an indeterminable amount of time that felt like a year.

"This is quite entertaining," Adams hummed thoughtfully after a moment. "Tell me, would you continue acting up if I were to do this?"

Gerard flinched, expecting a third shock, and then instead heard his love shout, blinking his eyes open in time to see Frank drop to his knees, teeth clenched, leaned away from the weapon at his shoulder. He extended his other arm and looked about to attempt to crawl away, but Adams voice halted him.

"Stay there, Iero. Don't move."

"Stop!" Gerard exclaimed, struggling into a sitting position, eyes going wide as he realized Frank _couldn't _get away—not with the drug was forcing him to obey anything the man asked of him. "_Stop!_"

"But Gerard," Adams taunted, keeping the device on Frank even as he half collapsed, head lowered, another agonized, pleading moan escaping his mouth. "I thought you were willing to do anything, as long as you kept your defiance up?"

"Let him go!"

"And you'll s urrender?"

"You already have us! Fucking let him go!"

Adams sighed, releasing Frank, who slumped to the linoleum completely. "You'll come with me without a fight?"

"W-where're we going?"

"Wrong answer, Way."

Frank shrieked as the man shocked him again, curling in on himself and finally muttering, "_Please…_"

Horrified, Gerard nodded. "I'll go! I'll do whatever you want! Just stop!"

Adams stood up, not seeming to care that Frank continued to pant and squirm at his feet. "Good. I hope so. Or else little Frankie's going to be joining the rest of Battery City."

Gerard shuddered at that.

"Understood?" Adams broke the silence, and Gerard instantly replied with, "Yes." He couldn't fight when Frank was so incapable of protecting himself—he _wouldn't._

"Yes what?"

Gerard winced, his gaze moving to Frank. The younger had gone utterly limp, his eyes fluttering, breathing in quick, shaking gasps. Gerard couldn't see him be hurt again; he refused to.

"Yes…yes sir."

News cackled loudly, the noise vibrating and echoing in the otherwise empty hall, and Adams grinned triumphantly. "That wasn't so hard, now, was it, boy?"

When Gerard didn't give a reaction, the man stepped towards Frank again, and Gerard instinctively scrambled forward, grabbing Frank's arm and throwing himself over the younger. "No sir! It wasn't hard!"

"Excellent!" Adams straightened up, concealed the weapon again, and then clapped, elated. "I'm so thrilled we've reached an understanding," he went on, and then gestured for Gerard to stand.

The Killjoy hesitated, and then leaned over to kiss Frank's forehead. Frank didn't respond, his eyes shut, and so Gerard merely murmured into his ear and brushed the hair out of his face before he obeyed, biting back every curse and insult he had, eyes on the ground.

"Come here, Killjoy."

Gerard flinched, cast a last glance at his love, and then went over to the man, never once raising his head.

"Please bring Iero back to his own room to recover," Adams told News, and Gerard shivered. "I'm not sure if that may have shortened the effects of the drug or not…I'd prefer not to take any chances."

News nodded, grabbing Frank and offhandedly lifting him over her shoulder like he was absolutely nothing—and he was exactly that, to them. But Gerard scowled, opened his mouth to snarl something at her…and then closed it again. It wouldn't help either of them; if anything, it'd get them hurt. And if Frank woke up as himself, in the 'room' they'd found got to him the most, he was already going to be hurt enough. Gerard didn't need to add anything to that.

"_Killjoy,_" Adams said, warningly, and Gerard bit his lip, following the man into the staircase without a word.

"You're learning faster than Iero," the agent chuckled. "Took a hell of a lot to find what got to him…for you it was just him. If you'd been here before, I imagine he would have felt the same. Instead, though…well, you wouldn't happen to be afraid of closets, too, would you?"

Gerard was on the man so fast Adams looked virtually startled, frowning as the Killjoy shoved him into the wall.

"You fucking leave him out of this, you bastard," Gerard demanded, raising his clenched fist up to Adams' chin. "He hasn't done shit. I'll do what you want, but you are _not _going to hurt him anymore."

Adams' eyes flashed with something Gerard couldn't decipher, and he let go and stepped back, genuine fear making his heart skip a beat. He hoped it didn't show on his face—he didn't want to give BLI anymore satisfaction.

The agent said nothing, only continued glaring at him. Unsettled, Gerard turned, beginning down the stairs again in a silent submission to what he knew was wanted of him, and then felt a rough shove on his shoulder. He staggered two steps further, lost his balance before he could make a sound, and then tumbled headfirst down the last five, landing in a motionless heap in the middle of the two flights, groaning weakly.

Adams bent over him, his figure wavering in and out of focus as Gerard looked up through his tangled, agonized limbs.

"If that's how you want it to be, Way, fine," the man said, his voice distant. "You can pretend you're in the position to threaten me, and I'll keep showing you how very wrong you are, how in control I am, how much pain I can put you through until you learn."

Gerard's eyelids fluttered and then slipped closed, and then he felt a grip close tightly around his arm. He shrieked at the agony that resulted in, and yet Adams still yanked him up by it, hard enough he had to unbend his legs and try to force them to support his weight. Gerard mumbled something unintelligible and dug the nails of his other hand into Adams' arm, trying to get himself released. "Fuck! Let me go!"

Adams ignored him. "Unless you want me to drag you down the rest of the stairs, walk_._"

"Let go! It hurts!"

"_Walk._"

When Gerard still hesitated, Adams started forward anyway, hauling the Killjoy behind him, ignoring the pained whimpers. By the time they'd gotten to the ground floor, though, Gerard had managed to match the man's pace, still being tugged along and stumbling but on his feet nonetheless.

He was shoved into the passenger seat of some car when they got outside, and he huddled against the door, holding his arm to his chest, wincing at every flare of pain that went through it.

"Wake up, boy," Adams' impatient growl cut through Gerard's haziness, and he groggily looked over at the man, watching him get out and then come over to the Killjoy's side, jerking open the door and pointing at the ground. "Out."

Without hesitation, Gerard jumped to the concrete, his will to repel against whatever the man said gone for the moment. He was just tired. He almost didn't _want _to fight anymore.

_No. You're not letting them all down. _

Straightening up completely despite the pain that flared up, Gerard jerked his shoulder out of the man's grip, repulsed at the touch and fact the man didn't seem to care he could've hurt Gerard worse than he had—only that the boy was well enough he could go on with whatever he had planned.

"Don't even think about it," Adams said, clearly having mistaken the action for another attempt to get away.

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><p>x<p>

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><p>And that's all I had for that (wasn't the end) but the idea was that the other Killjoys would see another broadcast of GERARD this time, and Adams makes him tell them to give up, and they of course don't, and blah blah blah.<p>

Of course Frank would snap out of it by the power of gay love or something I don't know, and Jesse and the others would somehow find someway to get them out, with the AIR VENTS playing a part in it (Jesse is small enough to fit in them) and then the last parts would be:

Gerard finally kills Korse before he can hurt Elise, and he can finally forgive himself for not doing it in time to save Missile Kid.

The BLI building self destructs or something and they all think it's gonna destroy the city but it doesn't, it just sorta collapses, and there was some other stuff that doesn't really matter like idk Frank "dying" would have been the end of a chapter because cliffhangers are fun and he had been trapped inside with Adams (who dies, yay) and he found his way out and then collapses and Bell helps him and he's obviously not really dead.

Ashton, by the way, along with Bert both died, and so does all the agents and SCARECROWS and Watchers and whatever else there was, and the very end would be one year later, and everyone's off meds and there's flowers everywhere and yay shrubbery .

And the ending, the VERY ending, I lost that because it was written on paper, but it was super cheesy and terrible and the last sentence was something along the lines of

"The world had ended up being more beautiful than he could have thought."

Or something like that. And of course Gerard is okay and Frank is okay and Ray and Mikey are okay and they forgave Bell and Elise and everyone's happy and whatever and good times and shit.

Well, that's about it...all over now in 6,000 words. Sort of anti-climatic, I'm afraid. But THIS I had fun doing. I had fun re-reading what I had written, and not having to worry about filling in the blanks and shit I hadn't done.

This was the right choice. It took months to work up the courage to finally do this, but now that it's done, I feel like I have weight off my shoulders.

_ANYWAY_, if you made it this far, CONGRATS. If you stuck with me for all this time, CONGRATS, and I've never appreciated anything more.

Good luck on whatever you do in the future, guys.

Thanks.

-StrawberryBubble


End file.
